


Boyish and Brave

by ponticle



Series: Boyish and Brave Universe [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Ending, Coming of Age, Dad Alistair, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Extremely Slow Burn, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied Sexuality, M/M, Multiple Endings, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, finally finding love in an unusual place, lots of dumb relationships and eventually one amazing one, parenting, same sex parents, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 143,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Icis Lavellan and Alistair Theirin set off to find the Hero of Ferelden once and for all. Alistair has spent his life behaving as others thought he should. After encountering a multitude of trials on a harrowing trek through Thedas, he discovers his agency and true self. Told from a rotating POV: Alistair, Cullen, Lavellan, Surana.</p><p>This story is now complete. It has 54 chapters, including 10 divergent endings. It's a little like a choose-your-own-ending book. :) This story was incredibly dear to me--it was the first thing I ever wrote and it became sort of a behemoth in terms of length and complexity, but it has a lot of heart. </p><p>Thank you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Author's Note

Hello!

 

I began work on this piece about a year and a half ago. At that time, I hadn't written much of anything, especially fanfiction. After reading some truly fantastic pieces here and on tumblr, I was inspired to answer the questions I still wondered after playing all three games. The resultant story turned out to be VERY long and complex. 

Beginning today, I'll be posting heavily edited versions of those original chapters. The major themes are the same however--namely, finding one's true purpose in a world that is full of confusion and turmoil. Just like the games, there will be multiple endings (I've written 10 so far).

I would also like to mention that the tagging system of Ao3 gives away some major plot twists in terms of who is in a relationship with whom... but that's okay... let's just be clear... Since Cullen and Alistair are my OTP, they're the _main point_ of this story... they just both have to go through a lot of transitional stuff emotionally to get there. :) 

I would be happy to talk with anyone about the story as we go along and I'd welcome any questions or comments. 

 

Happy Reading!

\--Ponticle


	2. Today/1 year, 10 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today: Alistair wakes up in an unusual situation.  
> 1 Year 10 Months Ago: Alistair grapples with his feelings of abandonment and meets someone astonishing

**Alistair**

* * *

 

**Today**

_**Skyhold** _

Alistair squinted into the sunlight, and, for a moment, forgot where he was. The silken sheets and cool breeze _could_ have put him in his bed at the palace of Denerim—but that is _not_ where he found himself.  Turning quietly enough to avoid waking her, he studied the face of the elf lying across from him. Tanned skin, full lips, strong jaw, and purple eyes that would have electrified him, had they been open. She was beautiful... but she was _not_ his elf. _His_ elf, who had slain the Archdemon and ended the blight, was nowhere to be found and this was _not_ the bed in Denerim that they shared.

 

* * *

 

**1 year, 10 months ago**

_**Redcliffe Village** _

"The trouble with mages is that they have too much power to make reckless decisions," said King Alistair to no one.

Ever since the beginning of the mage-templar conflict, Alistair had been kind to mages. He knew that is what _she_ would have wanted. But lately, in light of this new turmoil, he was feeling suspiciously like a templar again.

"I know you're going to disagree with me," he said aloud, "but it's _true_ …" He let his voice trail off. He was in the bad habit of talking to Bella Surana as if she were riding on his left flank.

He rehearsed again and again what he would say to Grand Enchanter Fiona when he arrived in Redcliffe Village. His internal monologue was punctuated by the beating hooves of his horse.

"One of the most celebrated mages of the age _and_ a former Grey Warden? Fiona, how could you?" he practiced. "Making an alliance with the Tevinter Imperium is just _too far_!"

"Fiona," he began again, "if you came to me, I could have helped you!"

It was true. He _would_ have helped—regardless of Queen Anora's protestations. He snorted. His marriage was even _less_ civil than usual these days.

He swore under his breath. "How is it possible that it's _worse_ now that you're out of the picture?" he asked the Bella in his mind's eye.

The silence of these one-sided conversations hurt every time. He wondered why he kept talking.  

Regardless of his personal troubles, being King meant dealing with frustrating, dangerous messes at every turn—today was no different.

 

* * *

 

As he dismounted, Alistair realized how painful it was to be in Redcliffe without Bella. Even during scheduled "King and Queen" appearances, she used to ride at his left flank as a supposed bodyguard. While he held Anora's hand and kissed her cheek for show, Bella would send him a knowing glance from under her cowl. He usually avoided going to places they once traveled together. Unfortunately, today's journey was not optional.

Anora's carriage pulled up behind him. He looked at her gravely over his shoulder and offered his arm.

 _The Gull and Lantern_.

        

* * *

     

Opening the door, Alistair donned his most stern expression and prepared for a fight. Rounding the corner, he spotted the tiny brunette elf who had started this mess. For a fearsome mage, Fiona looked so _sweet_ —gentle, even. He did not relish what was about to transpire.

"When I invited you to take refuge in Ferelden, this is _not_ what I had in mind," he exhaled sharply and felt his brow knit.

She looked wounded in a way he didn't expect. There was something _defeated_ about her eyes and the way she said his name vexed him. Unnerved and thrown, he faltered. Anora continued where he left off—her tone cool and detached.

Suddenly, a clear voice rang out in the sad mage's defense. He turned to look and felt instantly weak—it was the Herald of Andraste.

The next two minutes stretched unnaturally. He knew he was still talking, but his words did not seem his own. He had, of course, _heard_ of the Herald of Andraste. The briefs that passed his desk could be summarized as, "she's an elf; a _mage_ ; and she mysteriously closes rifts in the sky. She's gathering an army."

The truth of her was so much _more_. She had _magnitude_. If it were possible, chairs and tables would have leapt out of her way as she passed. Her skin was the color of melted brown sugar and her eyes… Her eyes were _purple_? He wouldn't have _believed_ it if he hadn't seen them in real life. Behind their color was wisdom that seemed out of place in someone so young.

Before he knew what was happening, this baffling creature had _stolen_ all his mages. Apparently, she was going to let them join the inquisition with absolutely no reprisals. He thought it was a terrible idea. A familiar pain resonated through his chest: it was _so_ like something Bella would have done.

 

* * *

 

Back in Denerim **,** Alistair settled into his writing desk and dipped his quill in ink. Through the last 2 years he had written Bella _hundreds_ of letters. Most of them never made it to a messenger and the ones that did _never_ received replies. At first, this horrified him. He sent search parties and paid spies to find her. Over the years, he realized that she must not want to be found. His pain dulled into a smoldering ember of disappointment in his gut. Now, his letters were for posterity, without any hope of response.

He began the way he always did, "My Dearest…

"I met someone astonishing today. Her name is Icis Lavellan. She is a mage and an elf— _just like you_. I bet you would like her if you got a chance to meet her…"

He felt a sudden urge to scream.

" _If_ you would come back," he said aloud _._ "What were you thinking? ...leaving me like this..." He threw the parchment into the fire and splashed ink across the desk. Defeated, he collapsed onto the floor and hung his head between his knees. Before he knew it he was sobbing hideously.

"Where did you go? Why did you leave me? Are you _dead_?" These were the trails of thought he usually did not pursue.

"Are you _ever_ coming back?" His voice was barely a whisper.


	3. 1 Year, 7 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis Lavellan receives an unexpected request.

**Icis Lavellan**

* * *

 

**1 year, 7 months ago**

_**Skyhold** _

Icis Lavellan had been _The Inquisitor_ for several months—whatever that meant. As far as she was concerned, she was doing the same thing she had always done: attempting to bring people together to close the giant hole in the sky. It was often arduous, usually complicated, and _always_ frustrating. Whatever the details, it had resulted in one _brilliant_ thing: Skyhold. Her fortress was starting to take shape these days. As craftsmen poured in from all corners of Thedas, the space was evolving into a work of art.

One of the cleverest inventions was the War Table. It provided a centralized method of organizing all the Inquisition's forces and a daily excuse to see one of the Inquisition's advisors:  Cullen was a mystery to Icis. His military background was bar none; he made planning decisive strikes seem as easy as breathing, but when it came to more personal matters he was evasive. Since beginning their clandestine affair, Icis had learned little about his past.

             

* * *

 

This morning she woke before the sun and laid in bed inspecting his features: beautiful blond hair that threatened to curl if it got any longer, square jaw, tiny lines that suggested worry. His upper lip twitched—a thin scar pulled taut through his stubble.

Just as she settled in for another half hour of sleep, Cullen yelled and shot up. This was common. Gently, she took his face into her hands and kissed him until he realized where he was. She wondered what past secrets plagued him, but didn't dare ask. Some things _needed_ to be kept private—even when sharing a bed.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later Icis strode up to the war table, tea in hand.

“Today’s reports please?” she asked. Leliana nodded in her direction.

There were the usual things: requests for military support, rumors about Orlesian nobles, and requisitions for herbs and resources. In the midst of these trivial matters, Leliana mentioned one note that caught Icis' attention: the King of Ferelden was requesting aid in Denerim.

"What was that last one?" asked Icis.

Leliana repeated the request.

"I'm surprised he's speaking to me after our altercation in Redcliffe," mused Icis. "He must be really desperate."

The note was actually sort of _funny_. He mentioned meeting her a few months ago in a way that was vaguely self-deprecating—definitely not what she would have expected from the king of a nation. He rambled. He seemed _nervous_ —even in print _._

"Would you like to respond, Inquisitor?" asked Leliana.

Icis nodded. "Send someone to deal with his problem..." Oddly, she wished she could go herself.


	4. 9 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis visits the Ferelden court with a surprising proposition for King Alistair.

**9 Months Ago**

_**Denerim Palace** _

**Alistair**

Alistair was awakened by the sound of horns. For a moment, he couldn’t discern if they were coming from outside or from a lingering dream. Pushing the sleep from his eyes, he rose to look out the window. There were riders approaching the castle with great speed—the inquisition crest emblazoned on their chests. This could be tremendous or _horrible_ news. Either way, he needed to get dressed.

In the hallway he ran into Anora who apparently had the same idea. Her eyes looked panicked, but her jaw was set. At the throne room doors, they steadied themselves, took a breath, and entered with all the poise their subjects demanded.

A panting messenger burst into the room and stopped a few feet in front of their thrones, kneeling and trying to catch his breath.

"Yes? What is it?" asked Alistair impatiently.

The messenger cried "the rift is closed! The inquisitor lives!"

The entire court exploded into a cacophony of relief and joy. Alistair's heart leapt into his throat. He was so relieved he transiently considered kissing Anora— _almost_.

He felt a twinge of pain in his chest—Bella deserved to _know_ about this. He should write her another letter, send a bounty hunter…find her himself! Of course, he still had no idea how to do any of that and, _lately,_ he was angrier than ever. He heard that she sent a note to the Inquisitor several months earlier explaining that she couldn't assist because she was "finding a cure for the calling." She could send a note to a _complete stranger_ but not the supposed love of her life? He felt the muscles of his neck contracting as he unintentionally ground his molars.

Just as he was about to excuse himself from the whole affair, riders appeared at the castle and heralded the arrival of the Inquisitor and her advisors. Anora reached for his arm and posed—they were well-rehearsed.

The first to enter was his old friend, Leliana, flanked by Josephine. He was not expecting to see them and he smiled and waved. Anora rolled her eyes—she hated for him to seem approachable.

Next, _Cullen_ entered—they had _never_ gotten along. Despite their divergent life paths, Alistair had actually known Cullen since his youth—they grew up together when Alistair was training to be a templar. It was a rough existence that Alistair didn’t like to think about. They locked eyes for a fractional second. Alistair tried to hold his gaze, but ultimately blinked first— _a defeat_.

Finally, after what seemed like an awkward pause, Inquisitor Lavellan strode into the room. A hush fell over the crowd as she kneeled before the throne.  The level of control she had over the room was unnerving. With light streaming in all around her, she reminded him of Bella again.

"Welcome to Denerim. On behalf of Ferelden and all of Thedas, thank you," said Alistair in his most formal voice.

She smiled and stood, nodding her head slightly.

"Please, let us provide you and your companions a place to stay and at least a modicum of revelry before you continue on to wherever you're headed," he continued. 

Anora promptly took control of the situation by readying the entire castle for a feast to rival those held in Orlais.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Icis had her own reasons for being at court that day. Now that the breach was sealed, there were other important matters she was tasked with handling. One, in particular, she knew she could not do alone.

"King Alistair, might I have a word?" she asked. She found him sneaking down a hallway in the opposite direction of the party. Transiently, she wondered why.

When he turned, he looked like a child caught with candy. "What might I help you with?"

"It's a matter of some importance, actually. The reason we came here was not _only_ to celebrate the closing of the rift," she answered.

He looked at her suspiciously, "I'm listening."

"You see, now that Corypheus has been defeated, the rifts can be closed without fear of more opening, but damage has been done to the veil that may not be so easily corrected," she explained. "We need the knowledge of someone trained in the arcane arts, who also has knowledge of the fade and of _old gods_."

"I don't know where _she_ is," he said tersely. He turned to leave.

"Wait! Surely you must know _something_. It's a terribly kept secret that you two are lovers.”

Alistair looked like she’d punched him.

She thought she’d better start over, “Commander Cullen says he knew her and that she _would_ be able to help—"

"I don't want to hear what _Commander Cullen_ has to say about her…" Alistair sighed.

Icis eyed him warily. Although she wasn't sure _how,_ they had obviously gotten off on the wrong foot.

"Your Majesty, I didn’t mean to _upset_ you, it's just that if the inquisition is going to continue, we will need powerful allies. I would like to count you, _and_ the Hero of Ferelden, among them."

His expression softened.

"Of course," he said wearily wiping a hand across his forehead, "it's just that I don't know where she is. I understand _you've_ heard from her more recently than I have. I have not seen or heard from her in over _two years_."

He paused for what felt like a full minute.

“So you see… there’s nothing I can do for you…” he sounded defeated.

“Perhaps there is something _I_ can do for _you_ ,” she said quietly.

He grinned—boyish and charming, “What would that be?”

“ _I’m_ going to find her,” said Icis. After closing the breach, her confidence was unflappable.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

What on earth had he just agreed to? Walking to his quarters it hit him that he had just agreed to work with this person he barely knew in order to find his _lover_ —he hated that word. He hadn't even managed to argue. He'd just nodded stupidly and turned on his heel to 'make arrangements.'

 

 _This is stupid._ _What could she possibly do that I haven’t already done?_

 

Around the corner in his chambers, he flung himself into his writing desk.

"My Dearest," he began out of habit. "I have made an alliance…”

He scratched his head with the edge of the quill and squinted.

“I’m going to find you…with the Inquisitor. You remember her, don't you? You sent her a note _apparently_ … still hurts a little, thanks for asking…  Anyway, it doesn't matter what has happened in the past, all that matters is that _I'm coming_. Love, Alistair."

He sealed the letter with wax and held it to his chest as he leaned back into his bed. Looking up at the canopy he wondered what seeing Bella would even _be_ like. It had been so long since he felt her porcelain skin or ran his fingers though her dark hair. He rarely let himself do this—it hurt too much to remember.

He could barely recall the sound of her voice. The sting was physical. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that she was lying there next to him—her soft breathing in time with his own, the earthy scent of her body hanging in the room.

           

* * *

 

Entering his study the next morning, Alistair was resigned. There were some details to be worked out, though. He strode up to the table where the Inquisitor was already deeply entrenched in a map he didn’t recognize.

"We need to discuss the details of this _arrangement_ ," he said in his most authoritative voice.

"What do you mean?" she said without looking up.

"You've never _met_ Bella—" he corrected himself, "—the Hero of Ferelden. She is an _exceptional_ commander. Finding her isn't going to be a two-week mission. This is probably going to take _months_ … and the rest of Thedas isn't going to look kindly on you ignoring those residual rifts."

She squinted. He thought he might have dissuaded her from this ridiculous endeavor.  

"You're right," she said finally. "If we are going to commit to this, I’ll have to move my operations here. I have a few of my inner circle here with me, but I feel most comfortable traveling in a group of at least four. Perhaps you could help me?"

He laughed. When she didn't flinch his smile faded, "You're _serious_?”

She nodded.

“I haven't been out of the castle on a real mission in ages… I don’t know that I’m allowed,” he sputtered.

" _Allowed_?” she raised an eyebrow skeptically. “I was under the impression you were the king…”

He _almost_ laughed. "Anora is going to _hate_ this…” he paused midsentence. “…but _I_ won't," he extended his arm to her, "I’m on board."


	5. 9 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Icis set out to solve a local inquisition problem before continuing their search for Bella Surana.
> 
> Note: some canon-type violence in this chapter. Mention of blood, gore, etc.

**Alistair**

**9 Months Ago**

_**Road to Highever** _

* * *

 

Alistair loved being outside the castle walls. They had already been traveling for more than a week, although Alistair didn't feel it. His uncles Eamon and Teagan had looked near full mental collapse when he announced his departure. They took it as further insult that he would require no guards or servants. Apparently, they had forgotten that he defeated an Archdemon before he was King.

By contrast, Anora had seemed _too_ eager to see him go. He knew she liked running things on her own, but he was beginning to think she _hoped_ he would be crushed by an ogre or eaten by a bear.

He didn't know his traveling companions very well, save one—to his dismay, Cullen had mounted a horse next to his own on their first day and was a permanent fixture on the battlefield. Alistair was originally under the impression that Cullen _wouldn't_ accompany them. After all, he had never traveled with the Inquisitor during her hunt for Corypheus. Alistair was fairly sure Cullen came along just to torment him. When fighting, it was incredibly frustrating—two former templars trying to dispel the same magical force field was not only _redundant_ ; it was confusing.

The rogue who traveled with them was a funny young elf named Sera. She had a mouth like a sailor and an accent that told him she had spent most of her formative years in Denerim's market. He knew they were becoming friends when he found frogs in his tent or one of his boots missing.

The 5th member of their group—whose presence made Cullen's even _less_ necessary—was a mage called Dorian. Alistair had heard of him—he was descended from a very powerful noble family in Tevinter. The 'breeding' showed: his face was as symmetrical as a marble statue. Alistair thought he was _too_ attractive—if such a thing were possible. He couldn't tell if he should _look_ or _look away_.

The plan was to meet Fergus Cousland, the Teryn of Highever, in two days time. Alistair had never known the Cousland family well, but he remembered that Fergus had a lovely little sister. Alistair once met her at a function at Arl Eamon's house when they were both children. Shockingly, she was _murdered_ along with the rest of Fergus' family at the beginning of the Fifth Blight. In retribution, Bella ended the murderer's life before the Landsmeet that decided Alistair's _own_ fate. 

 

* * *

 

As their group approached the Highever gates, they could instantly tell something was wrong.     

"Where are all the bloody people?" asked Sera.

The town seemed to be completely deserted. Alistair’s stomach was in knots. The last time he had come across a town whose populace was hiding he had been in Redcliffe and his cousin had been possessed by a demon.

He swallowed hard and walked ahead of the group into the town square. The Inquisitor walked up behind him and formed a defensive stance at his back. She was at least a foot shorter than he was but her presence was easily more fearsome. They looked up into each second story window and down each alley but saw no one.

Finally, Icis must have seen something because she motioned to Dorian to cover her. Alistair raised his shield and readied himself to protect the less armored members of their group. Peripherally, he saw Cullen do the same. Rolling his eyes, Alistair let out an audible sigh.

Icis ran ahead of the group, and before he even saw her casting, a wall of fire 8 feet high had erupted in front of the tavern door in the center of the square.

"Surrender and you will be spared!" she yelled.

For a moment everyone was silent, the only noise coming from the crackling fire.

A small voice cried, "I'm coming out! I'm unarmed…"

Icis lowered her staff and the flames immediately disappeared. Alistair was used to being in the presence of mages, but he was _not_ used to seeing these elemental spells. Bella had used mind control spells and even blood magic during the blight. Although he didn't _endorse_ it, he had become accustomed to knowing that magic was _happening_ without seeing direct evidence of it. The fire Icis conjured was impossible to ignore.

A boy no older than 14 walked slowly out of the tavern's door, waving the residual smoke out of his face.

"What happened here?" yelled Icis, her staff still poised to re-ignite the flames if necessary.

The boy looked horrified when he saw Icis' tattooed face. She raised an eyebrow in clear recognition of the racism she must have endured every day since leaving her clan.

"It's the elves, Ser…" he choked on the words, obviously afraid.

Icis' face darkened, "what do you mean?"

"Ser, the Alienage had been overrun with demons from the rifts. The Teryn took the nobles into the chantry. Everyone who didn't fit..." he interrupted himself, suppressing a hysterical sob. "They're all _dead_ … everyone…"

His story seemed strange considering how well-liked Teryn Cousland was. Alistair knew better than to think that nobles’ esteem was _at all_ connected to how well or badly elves were treated, though.

Icis squared her jaw and gritted her teeth. Sera spit.

"Why are you out here?" asked Icis in a surprisingly calm voice.

"My mum's an elf…" he said, clearly ashamed, "they wouldn't let me in."

Icis hung her head in frustration. "Sera, take this boy to our scouts outside town. Make sure they find him somewhere safe to go."

Sera nodded and headed off in the direction they came from.

 

* * *

 

The short walk up the hill to the chantry felt like an eternity. He couldn't shake the feeling that because Highever was under his domain he was somehow responsible. Even when Bella was at his side, he never felt like he could do _enough_ for the elves. As they approached the chantry door he tried to channel his energy into his sword and shield.

Icis kicked the door in. It splintered and lurched forward to reveal a whole room of shocked townspeople— _most_ wearing noble dress. Alistair wanted to hide. He knew as a warrior that this crowd could be controlled, but he knew as a king that some of their opinions could _matter_ down the line. He let Icis and Cullen walk ahead of him and tried to look nondescript. If he was lucky, they wouldn't recognize him.

"I just met a boy outside who tells me you refused him shelter because his mother is an elf. Would anyone like to explain that to _me_?" she said threateningly as she lowered her cowl to expose her ears.

The nobles in the center of the room whispered to each other and gasped.

Cullen moved two steps in front of the inquisitor and raised his shield slightly. All of them could feel the tension in the room.

The Teryn finally emerged from the crowd. Alistair knew they were about the same age, but Fergus looked 10 years older.

"Inquisitor Lavellan," he began, bowing his head slightly, "these good people were victims of an elf uprising like none I have ever seen."

Her eyes narrowed, "what were their grievances?"

His voice was shaky, "We needed to seal off that section of the city to protect ourselves from the demons pouring through the rift. It's quiet _now_ , but before we closed the gates, it was very active!" he rationalized, "we didn't have _time_ to evacuate the entire Alienage…"

"And what of the boy outside? I doubt he was the _only_ one denied access to this safe house…" a small bolt of electricity sparked in the hand she had behind her back.

"I don't know of which boy you speak, but I'm sure it was a misunderstanding," he bristled.

Alistair knew he should say something; he just wasn't sure what.

After a long silence, Icis turned on her heel and called over her shoulder, "I am going to close the rift in your Alienage. When I come back, you should tell me a _better_ story." 

Fergus looked injured. Alistair silently skulked behind her—feeling diminished.

 

* * *

 

The gates of the Alienage were not only shut, but barred. A beam as large as a tree trunk was holding the gates shut—the elves had no chance of escaping. He swallowed back sickness and approached Icis, who was 10 steps ahead of the group.

"We need to go in here with a plan. We _can't_ have two defenders… especially without Sera," he whispered.

She nodded, "Cullen, focus on damage after the king has drawn their focus. Dorian: with me."

Standing in front of the 30-foot gate Icis looked like a child. With a silent flick of her wrist, she hurled the beam—it crashed in a field twenty feet away. Her movements illustrated her fury. Bella had once told Alistair that dalish elves thought of themselves as _separate_ and _superior_ to elves who lived in cities, but if her actions were any indication, Icis did _not_ feel that way.

As soon as the gates were open, they saw the destruction. Corpses were strewn everywhere— _all elven_. As they rounded the corner, he saw an amorphous green shape hovering ten feet above the ground. He had never seen a fade rift in real life. Denerim had, inexplicably, been spared that _particular_ problem.

Icis charged toward the center of the rift, her arm outstretched. A green beam shot up into the air. Dorian stayed back and surveyed the scene. Six demons erupted in a circle, enclosing them on all sides. Alistair's training kicked in and before he knew it, he had instinctively run to the direct center of the arena and attracted all six of his foes with a burst of light energy that emanated from him in all directions. Dorian cast misdirection hexes and other magic he hadn't seen before from the periphery while Cullen flanked the enemies on Icis' left and right.

From under his shield Alistair watched surreptitiously. Icis was connected to the rift and he surmised that if she were interrupted, she would have to begin again. Alistair saw Cullen cut down foe after foe and Dorian confuse the new ones that were forming with decoys and hexes.      

Everything seemed to be going according to plan until a rage demon exploded out of the ground directly in front of Icis. No one was in a position to stop it. Panicking, he broke formation and scrambled to put himself between the demon and Icis. In doing so, he released three other lesser demons. As soon as he did it, he _knew_ it was a mistake. The three demons were immediately drawn to Dorian's magic and turned toward him. Dorian tried to confuse them, then to run, but they were closing fast. Cullen was still battling two demons and a fade wisp of his own. The only person in a position to do _anything_ was Icis.

Breaking her concentration and connection to the rift she suddenly developed a blizzard that swirled around Dorian's position and created a wall of ice between her and the demon. Alistair was thrown aside in the process. Landing hard on a pile of rubble he heard his head crack and felt hot blood running down into his eyes. _Still_ , he knew he needed to get up.

Forcing away the ringing in his ears and trying to focus his vision, he stood and resumed his diversion tactics. The rage demon took the bait and slid toward him. Alistair raised his shield over his throbbing head and braced for impact, but none came. The time he had given Icis was enough—she had closed the rift and nothing was left but a pile of ash in front of him.

Embarrassed and in pain, he hobbled over to Icis. "It's been a while since I did this… I knew that was a dumb idea as soon as I did it…" he explained lamely.

Cullen rolled his eyes disapprovingly.

Icis ignored them. "I need to look through the houses and see if there are any survivors. After that, let's pick up what items will be of use to us and head back to the chantry."

Alistair fell in line behind her silently. Throughout the Alienage, they found nothing but corpses and a few stray lesser demons. He watched Icis' face as they entered each house—she went in looking hopeful. As she came out, her face grew darker. By the time they had searched the entire Alienage, he could tell that Icis was silently raging.

 

* * *

 

Sera met them at the chantry entrance. "You _don't_ want to go in there," she warned.

"What happened?" asked Icis.

"I've been listening through the upper windows…" explained Sera, "they plan to tell you to piss off. 'The inquisition's not needed anymore,' blah, blah… 'inquisition has no authority,' blah… right wankers."

Icis' eyes narrowed.

 _This_ was Alistair's moment. Even if the inquisition didn't have authority over some pompous nobles, the crown _certainly_ did. He wasn't sure if his head wound was affecting his ability to think or if he was just _remembering_ what bravery felt like, but he was exhilarated. Stepping past the group, he walked directly into the center of the chantry.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the court," he began with a regal tone despite his bleeding head, "I am your king."

A hush fell over the court.

" _As_ your king, I am dismayed at the lack of compassion you've shown for those who were entrusted into your care. I have just come from the Alienage and I am sorry to say that there were no survivors." He looked around the room for even a _shred_ of remorse, but found none.        

"Therefore, I am demanding reparations be paid, from each noble house individually, to improve conditions in the Alienages in other cities. Your Teryn will be jailed in Denerim while he awaits trial and your Alienage will be _burned_ and never used again."

Again he paused. Shocked expressions, wide eyes, and slackened jaws gaped at him.

"Any elf in this city will live _among_ you."

This last part left everyone dumbfounded. Feeling his head throb worse than ever, he began to lose his footing. Rather than ending this speech by passing out, he decided a quick exit was in order and turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

He woke several hours later at a camp outside of Highever. Icis was leaning over him conjuring a soothing spell.

"You're awake? Good," she said curtly.

"What happened?" he asked.

Dorian perked up from across the campfire, "you delivered the speech of your life, turned around, exited, and promptly _fainted_. Really, Dear, it's a wonder you survived a blight."

Icis and Sera snickered.

"You had better get some sleep. I put up your tent next to ours, so if you need anything, just yell," said Icis. For some reason, he didn't like the way she said _ours_.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Alistair awoke to a splitting headache. Otherwise, though, he seemed unharmed. Peering out of his tent, he saw Cullen and Icis whispering to each other on the other side of the campfire.

"Good morning," he said a little too loudly.

As he stood, the world swam.

"How _are_ you?" asked Icis with a tentative expression, "we have a lot of work to do when we get back to Denerim. I received word this morning that some of our inquiries turned up information."

"I'll be fine," he said with a smile, then he turned to Cullen, "thank you for _your_ concern too!" He smirked boyishly. "How _nice_ of you to ask…"

Cullen sneered.


	6. 7 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Bella Surana seems to be progressing. Meanwhile, Icis and Alistair need to meet a contact in Gwaren. Alistair explains how he was raised by dogs.
> 
> Quite a long chapter, but filled with some hints of fluffiness that is yet to come. :)

**7 Months Ago**

_**Denerim Palace** _

**Alistair**

"She must have been going somewhere exceptionally dangerous," said Icis. She was pouring over notes she'd already looked at two weeks ago. "I mean… if she went to Wade for veilfire-imbued armor…"

Alistair sighed, " _Everything_ she does is dangerous."

Icis smirked—nearly laughing. "Let's go over this one more time…" she mumbled.

Alistair brushed a hand through his hair and blinked a few times, refocusing on the maps and charts in front of them.

"If she went to Wade… and commissioned veilfire armor… where in Thedas could she be _going_?" Icis asked rhetorically.

"Weisshaupt," said Alistair suddenly.

"What?" asked Icis. Skepticism pinched her eyebrows together.

"Weisshaupt!" called Alistair, now smiling from ear to ear, " _how_ could I have forgotten? Weisshaupt is the only building in Thedas that requires veilfire to pass a variety of magical wards… The warden recruits there have to wear a special _pendant_!"

Icis bit her bottom lip in a gesture Alistair now knew to be indicative of consideration.

"Do you know any _other_ uses for veilfire?" asked Alistair probingly.

"One," said Icis. "I've used it to interact with ancient elven artifacts… but I've not used it in material form—only the flames."

Alistair nodded. "It's somewhere to start, don't you think?"

Icis smiled.

             

* * *

 

Every day that they weren't traveling Alistair and Icis locked themselves away in his study and poured over notes, manuscripts, and maps. When the sun went down they joined the rest of the guests in the courtyard or ballroom and went their separate ways. As the days went on, though, they found they had more to talk about and would seek each other out at these galas. Cullen seemed increasingly intolerant of the whole affair, which suited Alistair just fine.

Nevertheless, their common goal had reinvigorated him in ways he didn't expect. Even trade agreement meetings didn't seem as dull. She was a _tireless_ worker, even when they hit innumerable dead ends. When it seemed like their heads were going to explode from all the unanswerable questions she would sit in his chair—the one from which he wrote all those _useless_ letters—and put her hands over her eyes. She would peer into the blackness, her mouth moving wordlessly, reviewing all the information they already knew. When she found something she overlooked in the ether, she would snap up and rush back to the desk, again full of energy and zeal.

Alistair found himself enthralled with watching her work. He began to catalogue her gestures. His favorite was a haughty expression—her upper lip curled and her eyes grew dark. She reserved that one for when she reconciled information from two conflicting sources. She had a nose wrinkle for when she was getting too tired to think and an exaggerated eye-roll for when messengers were late. Most charmingly, she had an increasingly frequent smile she used _only for him_.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

_**Road to Gwaren** _

Two months after their trip to Highever, Icis was reticent to make another large trek with her tiny band of companions. It wasn't that she _expected_ to see people mistreating elves in every city they visited, but she couldn't shake that feeling that the Inquisition was starting to be seen as a bully with only _invented_ authority.

Today, though, she had to put on her bravest face and head out to Gwaren. She had received a letter from Grand Enchanter Fiona a week ago that said an important contact was coming across the Waking Sea from the Free Marches. Fiona had not said _who_ , which meant it was probably someone infamous.

The situation required _finesse_ , which meant taking as small a group as possible—no scouts, no horses, just four people and camping packs. Icis had concluded after their last mission that even though Alistair was more of a wildcard than Cullen, he made a better defensive warrior—mainly because she was less terrified of his death. Whenever she was with Cullen on the battlefield she found herself looking over her shoulder to keep tabs on him. It was a liability she couldn't afford during this mission. So she packed her bags and said goodbye to him in the morning light. He smiled—his upper lip curled into a pleasant and teasing shape.

" _Come home to me soon_ ," he had said.

           

* * *

 

When she got outside Sera and Dorian were already waiting for her. Alistair was trying to leave through a courtyard exit, but Arl Eamon had found him and was forcing him to sign what looked like 50 edicts before he left. Icis watched Alistair sigh and shrug and furrow his brow. He was the least _royal_ king she had ever heard of.

_How did he become king anyway?_

Finally, he was released and jogged over to the group.

"Ready?" she asked him.

"Maker, _yes_ …" sighed Alistair, "If I had to sign one more document my hand would have fallen off."

Sera laughed over Icis' shoulder and Dorian smirked.

"All right then, let's go," said Icis.

 

* * *

 

An inconspicuous cart brought them to the outskirts of the city. By afternoon, they were walking through densely packed forests and bubbling streams. The air was thick and Icis was sweating. As they climbed through the mountainous terrain, Sera and Dorian had found a new way to entertain themselves—harassing Alistair. _He made it so easy._ Just the slightest question about his past or about his wife or his uncle—or basically _anything_ —made him blush and fumble his words. It was sort of _endearing_. Walking three steps ahead, Icis could smile and silently laugh without officially condoning it.

By the time they decided to make camp at the top of the foothills, Alistair looked like a child—they had been awfully hard on him. Sitting around the campfire that night, Alistair kept his head down, sharpening his sword. It was _obviously_ a diversion—his sword had been meticulously maintained by a dwarven smith before they left, but Icis could understand why he wanted to look busy. She crossed the camp and sat down next to him. He barely looked up.

"Sorry about them," she said looking at his decorated hilt, "all the teasing just means they _like_ you."

"Oh, it's all right, I'm used to being the butt of jokes. You _have_ met my friend, Morrigan, haven't you?" He smiled.

"I didn't realize you were friends," said Icis.

"Well, not in the _traditional_ sense, I guess… But we traveled together during the Blight and she was Bella's _best_ friend." He let his vision drift over the fire. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if she knew where Bella was—it would be _so_ like her to keep it a secret and then laugh maniacally."

"Oh, stop…" she laughed reproachfully. "You should _see_ her with her son, she's so _motherly_ ," said Icis.

Alistair made a face that seemed out of place, but it was transient. "I'm sure she's a great mother… Tell me… Where is the _father_ of this child?" he asked.

"She says there isn’t one," said Icis disinterestedly, "maybe he died?"

"He must have…" said Alistair, returning to his sword.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Icis got up before the others and surveyed the area in the early light. From this vantage point, she could see for miles. Blankets of fog insulated the lower hills and in the far distance she could see the Amaranthine Ocean. They would reach the docks by midday tomorrow as long as they didn't meet any resistance. With such a small traveling party, she assumed they would pass completely undetected through the forests.

A twig broke behind her and she rounded faster than she thought possible, staff raised.

"Whoa! Just coming to admire the view!" said Alistair with a smile.

She relaxed, "beautiful, isn't it? Hard to believe there was a blight here just a decade ago."

"Yeah, I really miss all the darkspawn running around…" he joked, "really gave the place character."

She smiled and continued to stare out over the landscape.   

"You know, my _wife_ is from here," he said after a long pause.

"Really?" asked Icis. This was the first time Alistair had mentioned Anora without rolling his eyes. It made her wonder what he _actually_ thought of her.

"My father named her father the Teryn of Gwaren after they ended the Orlesian occupation," he explained, "Anora lived here until she married my brother."

Icis was confused. "Anora was married to your brother?" she asked, trying not to sound rude.

" _Embarrassing_ , I know!" Alistair laughed, "Anora was married to my brother, King Cailin. Everything I've heard about their marriage tells me it was as ‘ _happy’_ as ours is. Once he was killed, Anora wanted to rule alone, but the country was tearing itself apart and Eamon thought I should rule instead. We compromised and here we are.

"She's not a bad person," he continued, "she can actually be quite sweet when she's trying… she has been through a lot: her father betraying her husband, subsequently being killed, and then not being allowed to rule on her own… and never having any children."

Icis was confused again; she didn't see Anora as the motherly type. Alistair must have picked up on this in her face because he continued explaining.

"Not that she is particularly _fond_ of children…as a queen her main job is to produce heirs. I'm not making that part easy. Grey Wardens usually can't have children at all—something about the taint."

"It seems like humans have as many arbitrary rules as the dalish do," said Icis, "just _different_ ones."

"I think you're right…" said Alistair, still staring off into the distance, "well, we should wake the others and get moving, I suppose."

They trekked down the small slope to their campsite and found Dorian and Sera already packing things up.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at Gwaren just before sunset of the next day. Icis was pleasantly surprised that it seemed like a bustling, _normal_ city. As a seaside town, it seemed cleaner than other Ferelden cities she had been in.

"Fiona said the contact would meet us in the tavern— _The Fox and Lamb_ ," said Icis leading the way, "We don't know whom to expect, but apparently they will know us."

The day was extremely pleasant. A warm breeze was coming off the sea and Icis could hear children laughing in the distance. Around the corner she saw the tavern's sign and heard lovely music spilling out its windows.

Inside, the atmosphere was lively. A fire glowed on the far corner of the room and the tables were packed with smiling patrons. Icis led her group to a round table in the corner and sat in the seat that allowed for best viewing of the entire tavern. Alistair sat next to her on the right while Sera and Dorian sat to her left. No one seemed to be approaching them.

"Time for a drink, then?" said Dorian with a smile in his eyes. He motioned to a server and in no time they each had flagons of ale bigger than Icis' head.

As the night went on Icis started to think that no one was coming. Her head was beginning to spin; anytime her drink was half empty, Dorian ordered another round. Just as she was about to suggest finding a room for the night and trying again the next day two heavily armed, hooded figures entered the tavern. She had a bad feeling these were their contacts.

The two darkened shapes walked directly toward their table and squeezed into the space between Sera and Alistair.

"Were you followed?" asked a vaguely familiar female voice from under the hood.

"No, we have been here for hours and nothing out of the ordinary happened," answered Icis.

Looking both directions, the woman dropped her hood. It was Hawke. "You keep unusual company these days, Inquisitor," she said with a wry smile in Alistair's direction. "Your Majesty, I didn't know they let you out of the palace."

Alistair nodded to her, "time off for good behavior… How can we help you, Champion?"

Icis looked back and forth between them. It made sense that they knew each other, she supposed. Then her eyes turned to the other hood. "Who is your friend, Hawke?"

"It's okay, you can take your hood down," she whispered.

The other hood obliged. Apparently everyone else at the table knew this man, but Icis didn't. Before her accident at the conclave, she had never been able to tell most humans apart, let alone recognize famous ones.

"What are you thinking, coming here?!" Alistair looked like he wanted to stand up and leave.

Icis put her hand on his arm and gave him a harsh look. "Who are you?" she looked directly into the man's red-brown eyes.

"My name is Anders. I used to be a Grey Warden—" he began.

"He started the bloody war!" said Sera nearly yelling.

"Everyone calm down," said Icis, "What do you two need from us? Fiona said it was extremely important that we meet."

"We need to warn you," said Hawke. "The reformed circle of magi is a farce. It is already beginning to crumble and there are rumors that the circles will rise up in their _old_ form. It's only a matter of time until mages are _forced_ into them again. We have a _vested_ interest in not letting that happen… and we think you do too, Inquisitor."

Icis felt a shiver crawling up her back. She had never been to a circle in her life, but what she knew of them sounded ghastly.

"As a mage, I _do_ have a vested interest. What can I do?" she asked.

"Keep your ears open," said Anders, "When you start to hear about the collapse, begin your campaign to keep the circles optional. Reach out to the Divine. Send word to Briala in Orlais. We need to get out in front of this."

Icis considered his advice for a moment and looked into the faces of each of her companions, trying to divine their thoughts.

"I'll do what I can," she finally said.

 

* * *

 

The trip home was much more frustrating than the trip _to_ Gwaren. It rained the entire time, making mud all over the hills and leaving them with little space to erect their tents. On the first night, they were forced to stop under a thick cluster of trees and put their tents directly next to each other. Through the entire night Sera's snoring kept all of them awake. A few hours from dawn, Dorian finally thought to put a barrier around her tent to muffle the noise.

The next day was as frustrating as the first. At one point Icis slipped down a slick rock face and caught her ankle between two stones. Grunting in pain, she magically conjured some ice to surround the joint while Dorian mended it with poultices. By the end of the second night, they still had six or eight hours to go and decided to stay another night in the forest. This time their tents were so close together that Icis could feel it every time Alistair turned over in the tent next to hers. After the fifth time he bumped her and woke her up, she resorted to hitting him through the tent wall.

"Ow!" he cried.

She felt him rustling to get to his tent's entrance and in a moment his face appeared at the open end of hers.

"What was that about?" he said as he ducked into her tent and out of the rain. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hit?"

"You rolled into me… a _few times_ …" she said, trying not to smile. "Didn't yours teach you not to enter a lady's tent uninvited?"

He looked horrified, "oh…" he stammered, "I didn't mean…"

"Alistair! I'm kidding," she laughed. "You _do_ , however, have to help me get back to sleep. It's the _least_ you can do."

"Okay," he said. "I'll tell you a story… through the wall."

She laughed as he hit head on the tent pole on the way out.

When he was settled back on his side of the tent wall, he began, "Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Alistair."

"This doesn't sound like a very _imaginative_ story…" she chided.

"Just wait, it's going to be good," he continued, "This little boy had no family to speak of. No mother, no father, and no brothers and sisters. He lived in the house of his uncle and aunt, who had no use for him. He was a very lonely little boy."

"Aww, poor Alistair," Icis said for dramatic effect.

"Yes, a poor boy indeed." He cleared his throat, "One day Alistair went out into the woods and prayed to Andraste for a family of his own. He prayed until his voice was hoarse and his knees hurt from kneeling in the dirt. When he finally looked around, he realized the sun had gone down and he didn't know the way home.

"Alistair was scared. In the dark, he heard voices whispering and thought he saw wild mabaris' eyes. He cried out to be saved. All of a sudden a beautiful elf appeared with stark white hair and a tattoo that extended across her face and neck. She picked up Alistair by the arm and carried him back to her clan.

"When he arrived, the others looked at him like an outsider, but the lovely elf told them to be kind to the little boy.  Begrudgingly, they agreed. Through the night, the elf let Alistair sleep in front of a warm fire. In the morning, she brought him back to his home in Redcliffe and kissed him on the head. She told him that if he ever found himself with wild dogs in the forest again, she would come for him, so he never had to be afraid.

"And that, my dear, is the story of how I was raised by dogs—somewhat literally," he ended with a laugh, "The. End."

Icis swallowed hard, but didn't say anything.

"Icis?" he asked, "Are you sleeping already?"

"Alistair, is that a _true_ story?" she asked in disbelief.

"It sure was. It didn't really improve my home situation at all—especially considering they shipped me off to the chantry not long afterward—but whenever I felt alone, I thought of that elf with the white hair and I felt _safe_. If it hadn't been for the dogs, I never would have met her."

Icis was quiet for a long time. She wondered which clan had picked him up. Hers never would have stopped for a crying human child in the woods. That thought made her a little sad.

"Thank you, Alistair. Good night.


	7. 4 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis realizes that the current plan isn't working, but she doesn't have the heart to disappoint Alistair. Some political unrest surfaces. Cullen and Alistair have unresolved tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving operations to Skyhold! Hooray!

**4 Months Ago**

_**Denerim** _

**Icis**

The morning light had just begun to peek above the windowsill of Icis' room. The red glass made the entire room look pink at this time of day. Cullen said it made him queasy, but she liked it. This morning he was sleeping soundly beside her, but she had been awake for hours. Usually, their lovemaking put her right to sleep, but lately she had been somewhere else intellectually. She hoped he didn't notice. She _still_ wanted him; looking at his body naked in the bed next to her, she remembered why. She gently brushed his hair off his brow.

"I wish you would come help me today," she whispered.

She didn't intend to stir him, but she often spoke to him in the space between sleeping and waking.

"I've asked you to come help us a few times now," she continued rhetorically, propping her head on her hand. "…but you always say no. I wonder _why_." She suspected it had something to do with Cullen's personal history with Alistair—whatever that entailed. Every time they spoke there was palpable tension in the air.

"He's actually very nice, you know," she absently traced the lines of his chest. "In so many ways… he's just _like_ you."

She sighed and turned onto her back.

It had been nearly three months of daily work and nightly parties and Icis was sick of both. She and Alistair had used every resource at his considerable disposal and turned up nothing more than rumors and questions. She was _tired_ and she knew it was time to go home, whether she had found the Hero of Ferelden or not.

Pulling herself out of bed, she quickly dressed and walked down the hall to Alistair's chambers.

"Your Majesty, it's time for me to go home," she rehearsed in the hallway. "I've enjoyed the time we've spent together—traveling…"

_No, that sends the wrong message._

"Thedas needs me and I need to move on," she said, steeling her expression.

_That's no good either._

"In our time traveling together, I've grown to think of you as a _dear_ friend—the boy raised by dogs…"\

_Maybe?_

Just as she worked up the nerve to knock, the door swung open and she jumped in surprise. Alistair was standing there in his smallclothes with a candle in one hand and an empty cup in the other. He gaped.

"What are you doing here?" he said as he stumbled back into the room.

"I was coming to see you. I thought you would be _dressed_ by now," she replied. She could feel the flushing across her face.

"I was just going to sneak to get some tea before we started the day. I have an idea for a new angle to look at all this from…" he continued with a look of renewed hope.

She _had_ to tell him… This was never going to work. But the look on his face was so endearing, like a small child seeing snow for the first time. Finally, she cut him off, "Alistair—your Majesty—"

"Since when are we so formal?" he interrupted, "I'd say we are getting closer every day, especially if you consider that little smallclothes incident." He smiled charmingly.

"Alistair," she began again, trying not to laugh, "I think it's time we gave up this search." She paused and read his face.

After a long silence he finally answered, "I suppose it wasn't realistic anyway…"

She could see the corners of his mouth turning down and noticed his shoulders slump. He looked as if she had punched him in the stomach.

Without thinking she blurted, "what I meant was, I think we have exhausted our resources _here_ ," she paused and smiled at him while he considered it. "I think we need to move our efforts to Skyhold—its strategically located to reach contacts in both Ferelden and Orlais and I think it's the only chance we have at really solving this thing once and for all."

The color returned to his face and his eyes were smiling again. It made her happier than she knew it _should_.

"Plus, Alistair, there are things I need to handle on the Orlesian side—rifts to close, alliances to make. Would you help me with those?"

"I will be ready in two days," he said and began to call servants to help him pack. "Anora will probably be pleased to have all these inquisition types—and me—out of her hair for a while," he joked.

"All right, then, I will let Dorian, Sera, and Cullen know and we will send word to Skyhold to make preparations for our arrival," she said turning to leave.

"Icis—" he called.

She turned on her heels and leaned back in through the doorway.

"I just wanted to thank you," he said, beaming.

Icis smiled as butterflies flooded her gut. It was _then_ that Icis knew she had crossed a line.

 

* * *

 

Six days later, they were only inching along. This was due, in large part, to having so much to carry. Alistair and Icis each rode mounts and two servants took turns directing a full-size cart carrying all their research materials. Icis had sent the rest of her comrades ahead to prepare for their arrival. She argued with Cullen before he left—he was uneasy about leaving her to make the journey with Alistair for reasons he wouldn't divulge. The secrets between them were beginning to wear on her.

On the sixth night, it began to sleet. This was especially difficult for the horses whose hooves were slipping on the incline of the foothills. As the sun set behind the mountains and ice began to form in sheets, Icis insisted that they find a place to make camp. The servants found a spot under two large trees to put the cart and erect a tent for themselves. The horses, however, were not sheltered. Icis decided to disassemble her tent and hang it from branches as a roof—they had often done something similar for the halla in her clan.

Alistair noticed what she was doing as he finished putting up his tent, "Where will you sleep?" he asked.

"With the horses," she replied.

He looked at her incredulously, "So you'll be stomped to death in the night, then?"

She smiled, "I'll be _fine_."

"These aren't halla, they’re war horses, and they _can_ be spooked. Stay with me."

An awkward silence fell between them.

"I mean, _next_ to me. Or nearby, really… just… use my tent?" He laughed--high pitched and awkward. It's really no different than sleeping in two tents back to back," he stammered.

"I'll stay with you. I have extra blankets," she said quietly. Internally, she argued with herself:

_This is a terrible idea._

Inside the tent, she attempted to delineate a space for herself next to Alistair. This proved challenging—he was big…very big…by human _and_ elven standards alike. His shoulders were nearly as broad as the tent when he laid flat on his back. He obviously realized this, because he soon turned on his side facing her in an attempt to share. She smiled obligingly. She made sure not to _actually_ touch him and attempted to settle in. With her back to him, she closed her eyes. She felt _awkward_ —not an emotion she was used to. After all, she had defeated dragons and united nations, what did she have to feel awkward about?

"Are you asleep?" asked Alistair. It was a ridiculous question; she had only been lying there for a minute.

"Nope, are you?" she asked, laughing.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she answered, turning over to look at him.

"What _is_ it about Cullen?" he made a disgusted face.

Icis laughed, "he's awfully handsome… have you _looked at_ him?"

Alistair rolled his eyes, but smiled.

Icis rested her head on her hand, "he is a better man than you think…"

"I doubt that," said Alistair without hesitation.

Icis squinted at him, "all right… I don't know what your problem is, but when we get to Skyhold, I think you should try a little harder to be nice. After all, _when_ we find Bella, we are going to have dinner parties all together and I wouldn't want there to be tension," she laughed and looked up at him through her eyelashes.

Alistair smiled, but his eyes looked sad.

"What is it?" she asked, moving impossibly close to his face.

"It's just… I don't know what it will be like when we find her— _if_ we do." He sighed. "She has been gone for so long that I don't remember her the way I used to."

Icis studied the lines around his eyes that betrayed his sadness, "Tell me about her. I've never met her so you can start at the beginning."

He looked at her skeptically, but started anyway, "she has long dark brown hair, but she always wears it in a bun on top of her head. A few little pieces always fall into her face—it’s adorable."

Icis noticed that as he described the features he was looking deeply into her _own_ face. She knew it should have made her turn away, but she didn't.

"Her skin is very smooth," he continued, running his index finger across Icis' cheek as he talked, "but it's not this color. It's rather pale, actually. Even _I'm_ tan compared to her." They both laughed.

"What else?" she asked.

"Well, she has big brown eyes," he brushed the hair away from her brow, "They're beautiful, in an understated way. Not like yours, which are, frankly, _mesmerizing_ ," he said with a smile.

She blushed and—for once—couldn’t think of what to say.

In the darkened tent, his features looked hazy and out of focus; she couldn't help but stare at his mouth. She wondered if the Hero of Ferelden had felt like this—like she _should_ pull away, but couldn't. She pictured them during the Blight, in a tent just like this one—the Hero, on her side like a girl, looking up at this handsome, compelling man who was going to be King.

And then, before she knew what was happening, she _kissed_ him—a full, passionate, desperate kiss.

The shock took a moment to set in. When it did, she pulled away and stammered, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"We just need some sleep, I'm sure," said Alistair with the same sad look she had seen on him earlier. "Goodnight, Inquisitor."

Without another word, he rolled away from her and went to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the trip seemed interminable. The first six days had been all campfires and stories; the last 8 were full of storms, mountainous terrain, and awkward nights spent not looking at each other. Icis was trying _not_ to be rattled by the kiss. It could have happened to anyone in their situation, she rationalized. The fact that she couldn't get it out of her mind, though, was more worrisome. 

In the days since the incident, she had tried to remember their purpose: the Hero of Ferelden needed to be found not just for the Inquisition, but for Alistair personally. Their love story had been legendary. Their alliance amassed respect for mages and elves alike. As soon as they found her, it would resume, she was _sure_. Icis needed to stay detached so that when they finally _did_ find Bella Surana, she would have no emotional adjustments to make.

When Skyhold finally came into view, she felt relieved. Alistair hopped off his horse with ease, even though he was probably as tired as she.  Icis peeled herself off her saddle. Her legs nearly refused to work after riding so long. At the gates, Cullen was waiting for them. Alistair and Cullen locked eyes for a moment—something unspoken passed between them. She didn’t look at either of them, but she could tell it meant something to Alistair from the curve of his shoulders.

Tomorrow, Icis knew, the work would begin, but tonight she could only think about getting clean and sleeping in her own beautiful bed. After a dinner that she nearly slept through, she said goodnight and retreated to her quarters. When she arrived, she found that a hot bath had already been drawn and Cullen was waiting next to the free-standing tub. She looked at him with a devious smile and quickly stripped off her clothes.

"This is perfect. Thank you," she said.

"You're most welcome," he replied. "It's the least I could do after being apart for so many days. Especially since you have been traveling with our dear King…" he trailed off.

"Cullen, _what_ is your problem with him?" she said irritatedly. She was too tired for polite conversation.

Cullen looked slightly taken aback, but didn't say anything.

"Sorry," she said, easing herself into the steaming water, "I'm just tired…" she paused, "…and he's been even less forthcoming than you are about this little feud."

Cullen smirked and stifled a laugh, "I don't think _feud_ is exactly the right term…" he backed away from her to sit on the edge of her bed. "What do you two find to talk about?"

"Lots of things," she said, considering. "He tells me all about his life before being king, stories about Bella, things about his childhood… stuff like that." She dipped her head under the water for a moment.

"His childhood? Has he told you that we knew each other?" he asked.

"I gathered that… I would very much like to hear what that was like from _you_ ," she said as she spun around and rested her chin on the side of the tub facing Cullen.

"Another time, maybe. Right now, I want to do more than talk," he said with a sly smile.

 

* * *

 

In the afterglow of their lovemaking they would often discuss Inquisition policies. Icis liked to use the time to test her strategies before presenting them at the war table and Cullen liked to have a chance to give advice without the inevitable arguments from Leliana and Josephine.

"Vivienne has begun to reconstruct the circles," he began timidly.

Icis rolled over and rested on his chest, "she's doing what? The circles already exist, what's to construct?" she questioned.

"She has always been a supporter of circles… you know that... She's putting them back together in the _old_ way—under Cassandra’s supervision, of course.  She just feels that the time is right to reinstate them now that the College of Enchanters seems to have failed to attract the vast majority of mages…" Cullen let his hand run along the side of Icis' body, eventually cupping one of her breasts.

Breathing sharply, Icis asked, "But what is to stop the circles from becoming corrupt again?" She kissed him before he could answer.

"Vivienne believes that if the Templars can work more closely with the mages, instead of _over_ them, there will be peace. Cassandra has softened the restrictions as well, she wants to make the training at the circle last only a certain number of years," he answered, kissing her forehead as she trailed her lips over his chest and abdomen. "There is one other thing…"

The tone in his voice made Icis look up.

"Vivienne and Cassandra both believe that these circles will not work unless _all_ mages are trained there."

She snapped upright, "What does that mean?"

"It means the dalish will not be exempt from circle mage training," he said hesitantly.

She recoiled at the implications of such an edict. He wrapped his arms around her small frame, but she pulled away and sat up on the bed, holding the blankets over her chest.

"Several months ago, I was warned that something like this might happen. This _cannot_ stand," she said slowly.

Cullen sat up and closed the gap between them. "Who warned you?"

"It doesn't matter," mumbled Icis dismissively.

"There are some positive points here, Love," he offered. "Cassandra has outlawed the rite of tranquility and she is going to cure as many tranquils as she can."

Icis rolled her eyes, "That has nothing to do with this. Dalish clans will _never_ submit to such an edict. Keepers teach the old magic to their firsts. It has _always_ been this way.” She was suddenly yelling, “And if you think Briala is going to let _anyone_ force elves into another form of subjugation, you are _sorely_ mistaken!”

Icis dragged her palm across her forehead, which suddenly felt hot.

“Not to mention that the mages just fought a bloody and savage _war_ to gain their independence. They are _not_ going to march back to the circles willingly."

There was a long silence as Icis tried to think of what to do. She realized there was one question she hadn't asked. "Do _you_ support this edict?"

Cullen clearly hoped she wouldn't ask that. His silence was answer enough.

"I see." Icis stood and began dressing.

"Where are you going?" asked Cullen, pulling the sheets with him as he stood.

"I'm going to sleep in the guest quarters. I need to be alone." With that, she was gone.

 

* * *

 

Despite her best efforts, Icis _couldn't_ sleep. She was starting to feel like lying in bed was just a waste of time. Annoyed, she picked up her bedside candle and made her way to the kitchens. At the door she heard someone knock over a dish and swear.

"Hello?" she called, raising her candle.

Alistair was standing in front of the table looking guilty. A barrel of wine had tipped and was spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Oh Maker, look what I've done," he whined. "I'll clean it all up before morning," he said, righting the barrel.

Icis had to smile, "you aren't very good at being sneaky, are you?"

"It's not really a necessary skill in my line of work. No one says, 'okay, King, infiltrate this banquet' or 'sneak past those townspeople.' It's all speeches and kissing babies," he laughed. "What are you doing up?"

"I was looking for some meat, actually. …when I can't sleep, I eat," Icis admitted.

"Me too! I can blame mine on being tainted, though… Grey Wardens are _always_ hungry," he smiled, "what's _your_ excuse?"

She grabbed a piece of pheasant from his bowl and sat down next to him at the table.

"Anders and Hawke were right," she said darkly. "The circles _are_ going to be reinstated—possibly with more force than before."

"You're not going to let that happen, are you?" asked Alistair. "The Divine happens to be a friend of yours… I'm _sure_ you could talk to her—"

Icis cut him off, "She's in support of this. Apparently we aren't as close as I thought."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, chewing and thinking.

"I'm thinking about contacting the Hossberg mages. Have you heard of them?" Icis asked.

Alistair shook his head.

"Apparently, a small group of mages were transferred to Weisshaupt when the circles fell. Some of them are elves, some are human. Either way, they have been researching the Fourth Blight and have found some very useful things, I’m told. Maybe their intellectual pursuits can convince people that mages need to be free to learn, not tethered to circles."

Alistair looked at her, considering.

"Not a good idea?" she asked after a long pause.

"I think it's a _great_ idea," he said with a sad smile. "…I'm just worried…" he paused, "What about Bella?"

Icis wasn't sure what he meant.

"This might be just what _she_ was trying to do… and now she's _missing_ ," he swallowed hard. "Don't forget that politicians can be more dangerous than the deadliest dragons…"


	8. 2 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis and Alistair set out toward Val Royeaux and meet some heavy resistance along the way. Canon-typical violence, some blood and whatnot. :)

**2 Months Ago**

_**Skyhold** _

**Alistair**

For the next month, Alistair and Icis worked every day. When they weren't working, they ate, read, trained, and laughed together. 

Contacting the Hossberg mages at Weisshaupt had proven difficult. He sent word to Weisshaupt that he required them as the King of Ferelden, but they had denied his authority in this matter. His next response reminded them that he had saved _all_ of Thedas from a Blight—as a Grey Warden—but he hadn't heard anything yet.

In the early mornings, Alistair trained in the yard with some ex-templars. It made him feel younger when he could best the men and women in their 20s. This morning, following a particularly intense sparring session, he wandered to a bench under the balcony of Icis' room. He heard a familiar voice coming out of the window.

"Cullen, I’m not coming back," said Icis with finality. "I just need some _space_."

Cullen muttered something Alistair couldn't hear.

"I am not _blaming_ you! But you _do_ agree with it, so don't pretend that you're on my side!" she yelled.

Cullen scoffed as Alistair heard her bedroom door slam.

 

Later that day in the library Alistair couldn't help himself, "Are you all right?" His eyes were wide.

"I'm fine," she said absently.

"I don't mean to _pry_ , it's just that I heard…"

"It's okay, Alistair, I think the entire fort heard us…" she huffed, "I think we're _through_."

Alistair was surprised. More troublingly, he was _happy_.

"Well, if you need anything…" he began.

"They are moving forward with the plan for the circles," she interrupted.

"Who are 'they'?" he asked.

"The Divine and Vivienne—but Cullen _agrees_ with them."

"He _would_ ," scoffed Alistair. He folded his arms across his chest and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"He even agrees with the part I haven't told you yet," she raised her chin until they were eye to eye. "He thinks the dalish should be made to leave their clans to study. He argues that it's temporary, but leaving _my_ clan was the hardest thing I _ever_ had to do—and it has turned out to be permanent!" she shouted, slamming her fist down on a pile of books.

A puff of dust burst up between them and hung there in the silence.

Alistair could _feel_ her anguish. He fought back an urge to hold her. Instead, he said "I could kill him for you," with a cynical smile.

They both paused—Alistair wondered who would be the first to laugh.

"Just kill some _darkspawn_ for me," she said, smiling despite herself. "We have been asked to deal with reports of darkspawn activity near Val Royeaux."

"That _is_ what I do best.” He smiled.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, they set out. Because they were going to be near the capital city of Orlais, they packed their court clothes. Alistair felt that the extra load might slow them considerably. Their companions today were Dorian and a rogue they were meeting on the road—apparently a friend of Varric's. Sera had been _his_ first choice for a rogue, but she claimed that Red Jenny needed some favors in the opposite direction.  He thought that was a pity because, although she was vulgar, she kept the mood light.

Icis seemed happy to be out of Skyhold. Alistair hoped they would meet with just enough resistance to keep her head clear while not _really_ threatening her life.

"Where is this friend of Varric's going to meet us?" Alistair asked when they were three hours into their journey.

"She's right here!" called a familiar voice from a cliff to his left.

He squinted into the sun and saw the woman's silhouette. He would know her anywhere.  "Isabela!" he called, smiling.

She hopped gracefully down from the rock she had been squatting on. "Come over here and hug me, you giant," she said outstretching her arms.

He hadn't known they were on _hugging_ terms, exactly, but he supposed that after traveling so far together, it made sense. He picked her up and swung her for dramatic effect before placing her down into the middle of their caravan.

"Everyone, this is Isabela," he gestured toward her with an open palm. "She helped me look for some people I thought I'd lost a few years ago… she's also a close, personal friend of the Champion of Kirkwall…" he babbled.

"Come, now, Alistair, we know each other better than that," she said looking him up and down hungrily.

Alistair blushed.

Icis shook Isabela's hand and they were off.

           

* * *

 

About two hours later, they found the first evidence of darkspawn incursions. A section of the ground was blackened and inky blood lay in clots. Alistair could sense that a large group was just to the south of the city.

As soon as the group was in sight, Isabela disappeared into a puff of smoke and went to see what the situation was up ahead. A moment later she was inexplicably right in front of him—he had always been a little confused by rogues.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"About six hurlocks, standing around _uselessly_ ," she began, "…and in the center, one genlock alpha working on something magical."

"Okay, I'll run in and disrupt the magic at the center of the circle. Isabela, you sneak up behind the archers and take them out." Alistair pointed to the mages, "Dorian and Icis, stay out of the clearing and each take control of a side—fire, lightning, _whatever_." He looked into each of their faces, "are we set?"

Icis nodded and started walking toward the edge of the clearing,

Alistair fell into step beside her, "I'm sorry if I overstepped there, it's just that I've fought so many darkspawn," he explained.

"No problem. I appreciate not having to take control 100% of the time," she laughed humorlessly.

At the edge of the clearing, Alistair raised a hand to signal a pause. After looking at each of his companions, he led the charge. The plan went off without a hitch—he was in the center of the group, disrupting the genlock's plans before any of the darkspawn were even vaguely aware they were being watched. Isabela had taken the two archers on the hill down in less time than it took Alistair to check on her. Dorian was controlling the rest of the crowd in the center while Icis was disrupting the path of adds who were coming in through the forest. He couldn't believe how well his plan had worked. Just as he was beginning to congratulate himself, he felt a large darkspawn presence behind him. He closed his eyes and cursed—an ogre, standing at least 15 feet tall, was coming his way.

Isabela puffed out of sight and a second later was stabbing the ogre's legs, slowing its progression toward him. Alistair dug in and lifted his shield just as the ogre hurled a huge bolder toward him. At the last second, he jumped out of the way and rolled past a few other hurlocks. The boulder missed him by mere inches. A magical wall of ice appeared between him and the ogre and he heard Icis calling for everyone to flank the creature from up on the hill.  Regaining his wits, he ran around the partition and rallied the group with a cry before ducking behind his shield and charging straight at the roaring creature.

Behind him, Icis produced a bolt of concentrated electricity that was so powerful it distracted the ogre and sent him running toward her. Alistair looked at her and panicked. Breaking formation, he charged toward the hill where Icis was desperately trying to regenerate enough mana to cast a barrier. Isabela yelled and Dorian swore, but Alistair kept running.

The ogre loomed over her, about to drop its huge arms—she would be instantly crushed. Alistair got there just in time to stand between them. Icis scrambled backward and began casting while Alistair dug in—but a second too late. Before he knew what was happening, there was a vice grip around his torso and his ribs were squeezed so tight he couldn't breathe. He struggled as his feet left the ground. Ten feet off the ground, the ogre roared, exposing its blood-soaked teeth. Alistair struggled toward the dagger he kept in his boot, but couldn't reach it.

The moment stretched. He couldn't keep anything in focus. He blinked at Icis' stern face before his vision went completely black. The next second, though, he could breathe again. The ogre threw him fifteen feet. His spine crashed against the trunk of a tree hard enough to make him feel momentarily paralyzed, but he _could_ breathe and he _wasn't_ dead.

Mustering the courage to stand, he struggled to his feet and charged back to the fray. With a decisive upward thrust into the ogre's right flank, he turned the tide. Roaring in pain, the ogre fell backward down the embankment and bled out. The rest of the remaining hurlocks began to scatter, but Dorian and Icis wouldn't allow them to escape, with simultaneous ice and lightning storms, they finished off the group.

The stillness that followed was strange. The wind whipped through the trees and whistled, but there was no sign of any more attackers approaching. Softening his stance, Alistair realized _how_ injured he was. His vision blurred and he sank into the dirt.

 

* * *

 

Alistair opened his eyes to find himself inside a tent next to a roaring fire. Outside the tent flaps, it was dark. Sitting up, his head swam and Isabela rushed into the tent, closing the flaps behind her.

"Stop, _stop_ …" she kneeled down and put a hand on his heavily bandaged chest, "shhh."

"I'm fine," he said petulantly.

"Yeah, you're right," she chided, "it's _normal_ to be crushed by an ogre. Happens every day."

"Ha-ha. You're _hilarious_ ," he coughed and settled back into his lumpy pillow.

"Seriously, Al, what _happened_ out there?" she asked, "I've never known you to be so reckless."

He thought about it before answering. All he could see was Icis, unshielded— _alone_.

In the time it took him to think, Isabela _knew_ , "you love her, don't you?" Her eyes danced with fire—she loved a scandal.

"What?" said Alistair defensively, " _of course_ not. You know I've been with Bella all these years."

"Where is she then?" asked Isabela. The corner of her mouth pulled up into an haughty smirk.

He leaned up onto his elbows and looked into Isabela's eyes. "I don’t know what I'm doing anymore…"

"Don't be so _dramatic_ ," she said with a smile, "Love isn't a contract. Just because you loved Bella for a decade doesn't mean you have to for _another_ decade."

He considered. He wasn't used to people letting him off the hook for things.

"Listen, if you want her like I think you do, you should just _take_ her. Life's too short," she continued with a smile.

Alistair attempted a smile, but his face felt foreign. The skin stretched uncomfortably.

"Get some rest and think about it. I'll tell the others you haven't died yet." Isabela crawled out of the tent and closed the flaps, leaving Alistair in the dark to think.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Icis looked over at Alistair's tent nervously. She still couldn't figure out what went wrong during the battle. She swore under her breath—everything was _fine_ until that damn ogre showed up. Seeing Alistair thrown like a ragdoll had shaken her in ways she did not expect.

She crossed the campfire and paused at the entrance to Alistair's tent. Regardless of all logic, she felt _compelled_ to see him. Taking a deep breath, she "knocked" on the tent flap with minor success. The noise she made was more like a nug rustling through leaves, but he answered anyway.

"Come in?" he said quizzically.

"Hi," she said softly, "I wanted to see if you were okay."

He smiled and she crawled into the tent next to him.

"Well, my head spins when I try to sit up and I can barely breathe through all the cracked ribs, but I'm alive," he answered, "so that's something…" He smiled boyishly, "…wish I could say the same for my _pride_ …"

"It could have happened to anyone," she lied soothingly, "what _did_ happen exactly?"

He looked suddenly flushed, "You want the _truth_ or a better version?"

Icis squinted at him skeptically.

"Okay, honestly, I saw the ogre coming toward you and I panicked. I knew you weren't ready to cast anything and I didn't want to see you crushed," he admitted.

Icis felt a warm, tingling sensation in her gut, "You did that stupid thing _for me_?" she asked sarcastically, "you _shouldn't_ have… a girl could be spoiled by people almost dying for her."

"You're _hilarious_ ," chortled Alistair, flopping back onto his pillows and clutching his chest, "don't make me laugh," he hissed. "It hurts too much…" he exhaled with a wheeze.

"Okay, we'll just _whisper_ then," she tucked herself into the space next to him, "and not about anything fun."

They spent the next hour looking up at the tent ceiling side by side, in a silence that _could_ have felt strained, but was actually somehow comforting. When Icis realized she didn't hear anyone outside, she sat up, "I had better go."

"If you _have_ to," he said.

"Well, what if wild mabari come in the night? It wouldn't do to have you killed senselessly, I suppose." She knew she was grasping. _Why was she doing this_?

"I suppose not… but I already have an elf to call in that situation," he joked.

"Not anymore—now you have _me_."

Her words hung in the air like smoke from a fire.

"Then stay," he said finally.

Tucking herself into his side, she felt out of her own body.

"I can't give you any more space tonight, unfortunately," he said apologetically, "I have to stay flat or I can't seem to breathe—damn ribs."

"Don’t worry…I'm fine here."

 


	9. 2 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Icis make it to Val Royeaux. Icis gets a warning. Alistair struggles to keep his wits about him. 
> 
> Later, back in Skyhold, Icis and Alistair make a pact.

**2 Months Ago**

_**Road to Val Royeaux** _

**Alistair**

Early the next morning, flecks of light peeked through the tent flaps and Alistair could hear the others making breakfast. Icis was still asleep, facing away from him. He wondered how long he could go on like this before he blurted out, "I love you" in his sleep. That type of embarrassment would be par for the course at this point.

He doubted he could sit up. He pulled himself onto his elbows tentatively, then fully upright— _so far, so good_. Icis stirred next to him, but didn't open her eyes. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to do _anything_ but leave her alone in the tent, but for his own sanity, he _had to_ stand up and walk out. With only minor difficulty, he crawled forward through the tent flaps and found that once he was outside, he was significantly improved.

"You can thank _me_ for that," called Dorian from his periphery. "I spent all night mending your ribs."

"Thank you!" called Alistair. "I didn't know you were a healer."

"I'm _not_ ; it took me twice as long to learn the spells as it did to fix you," he smiled wryly.

 

* * *

 

The road to Val Royeaux was clear this morning. The four of them and all their finery traveled quickly to the city gates. Upon entering, they were stopped by an elf in a funny hat.

"Please state your business," she said in a nasally voice.

"We're here to see Emperor Gaspard," said Icis forcefully. When the elf looked confused she continued, "I am Inquisitor Lavellan and this is King Alistair of Ferelden."

The elf's eyes widened, "please, come in." She gestured to the gate guards and scurried ahead of them through the decorated iron gates.

Entering the fortress, Alistair felt sick. He didn't _like_ Orlais on principle and he knew he was going to have to pretend to know how to play The Game. He didn’t even know the rules, how could he play?

As they entered the palace, they were greeted by a variety of servants in masks who suggested they bathe and ready themselves for their audience. Alistair thought all this pretence was useless, but he _would_ appreciate a bath. The four of them parted ways with their staff and were shown to four beautifully appointed guest rooms in the wing for visiting dignitaries. Alistair's room was adorned with red draperies and a huge four-post bed at the center. To the left of the fireplace, a hot bath had been drawn and a full length mirror was poised conspicuously within view.

Alistair stripped off his mail and shirt to inspect his bandages. When he unraveled them, he found that although he wasn’t in much pain, his entire torso was purple with bruises. If Dorian hadn't been there to help him, who knows how long it would have been before he bled to death internally. Shaking the feeling of doom off of him, he tiptoed into the bath. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Entering the throne room, Icis wondered where everyone else was. The point of this meeting was _not_ to enjoy the hospitality of Val Royeaux—she would much rather do what needed to be done and leave. Behind her, someone stepped out of the shadows and she whirled.

"Lady Inquisitor, I am glad you came," said Briala.

"Thank you, I assume it was you who summoned me?"

" _Of course_ …Gaspard may be the Emperor in name, but he does not know what goes on outside these walls," Briala smiled devilishly. "Tell me, what did you find?"

"A large group of darkspawn, just a few miles outside the walls," began Icis. "At first we thought it was just an isolated group, but as soon as we engaged them, more arrived. They seemed to be working on something magical. Dorian says it's hard to decipher, but he is working on it nonetheless."

Briala considered, "These darkspawn are not acting as they should. I knew something was amiss."

"I had that feeling too," confessed Icis. "What should we do?"

"Return to Skyhold, I will send some of my agents through the eluvians to see if this is happening in other places."

"All right," said Icis.

"I would allow you to travel home through them, you know. You have proven yourself to me countless times," offered Briala.

"My companions wouldn't be able to travel very quickly, I’m afraid—all human."

"Maybe it's time you started traveling with your _own_ kind," said Briala darkly, "I can say from experience that trusting humans, _especially nobles_ , is never wise."

Icis thanked her again and she was gone.

 

A moment later, the hall began to fill with nobles in anticipation of Emperor Gaspard's appearance. Feeling out of place, Icis backed up toward a column and watched as mask after mask descended the stairs. Finally, an unmasked person started his descent.

Alistair was dressed in his finest—his russet hair was complemented by a green coat with gold accents. His crown was slightly askew in a way that said, _'I'm important enough not to care.'_ Coming down the stairs, he looked positively _majestic_. He surveyed the room discerningly. When their eyes met she tried to look away, but he had clearly caught her staring. He crossed the room to meet her and bowed slightly, taking her hand when he was near. Icis felt her face burn.

"Lady Inquisitor, you look lovely this evening," he used a voice that sounded like an _impression_ of a king. "I didn't know you owned any dresses," he said more quietly as he rose to meet her eyes.

"I _own_ them, I just hate them," she said through a fake smile. Her dress was relatively plain compared to Alistair's waistcoat. It was purple—a suggestion from Josephine to take advantage of her eyes—and fitted through the waist and hips with a flare near the knees. She felt awkward wearing it, mostly because its tightness made her take smaller steps than usual, but objectively she thought it sent the right message—she most liked the way the neckline exposed her clavicles.

Alistair smiled down at her and offered her his arm, "shall we?" he gestured to the ball room where people had already begun to dance.

Surprised, she smiled, "I didn't know you were a _dancer_."

"Are you kidding?" he said with a laugh, "Anora made me take lessons for six months before our wedding."

Icis smiled and took his arm. Once they crossed the threshold, Icis could feel eyes on her; she suspected they were interested in the _scandal_ of seeing the king of Ferelden, without his wife, dancing with a notorious elf. Alistair must have noticed it too because he tightened his grip on her waist and looked piercingly into her eyes.

"Don't worry about them. They would be as titillated by a servant spilling a tray of food as they are by this," he offered.

"You're right," she said gripping his outstretched hand.

As they began to spin and whirl in intricately designed steps the crowd became a blur. Icis had never danced with such a partner before and she felt like she was _floating_ more than stepping. At the end of the song, the trumpeters heralded Gaspard's entrance. He spoke from behind his mask for a solid twenty minutes, but Icis didn't hear a word. In her mind, she was still dancing, looking up into those liquid brown eyes.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

The next morning they were back on the road. Isabela left in the opposite direction, heading for 'points north'—she wouldn't say exactly _where_ —and Dorian was staying in Val Royeaux for several extra days after meeting a handsome Rivaini diplomat at the ball. Icis had agreed to let the servants and scouts take the main road with their horses and a few guards to avoid potential threats even though it made the trip a week longer. Therefore, Alistair and Icis were free to cut through the forest on foot and to explore the area for potential darkspawn activity.

At this rate, he thought they would make it home in three or four days. He was feeling nearly normal now, which was credit to how well Dorian could learn and perform new spells. He couldn't believe how quickly the bruising had disappeared.

 

The first night in the forest, Icis seemed a little distracted. Alistair had already started a fire and erected his tent before she even started to unpack hers. She had a worried look on her face.

"Are you all right?" he finally asked.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said—an _obvious_ lie. A moment later she continued, " _well_... I am concerned, actually. Before the party, I talked with Briala. She says the darkspawn are planning something. Have you ever heard of something like that?"

Alistair took a long breath, "I have, actually. Not frequently, but Bella came across some darkspawn who claimed to have control of their own faculties." He noticed something about her expression change at the mention of Bella's name. He regretted bringing her up instantly.

"Hmm.." mumbled Icis. She still did not unpack her tent.

"Stay with me?" he asked suddenly.

Without hesitation, Icis nodded and followed him. They kicked off their boots and put their coats aside. As soon as Alistair reclined, Icis nuzzled her face into his chest. Neither of them said anything. Instead, he extended his arm around her back and shoulders and drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The rest of their trip proceeded according to plan. They investigated a few areas that looked like darkspawn had infiltrated them, they scouted some paths, and they slept in _one_ tent every night. Alistair desperately wanted Icis to explain what was going on between them, but he didn't dare ask. He worried that if he acknowledged it she would return to her own tent—he really didn't want that. 

When they arrived at Skyhold, he nearly expected her to follow him to his quarters and curl up in bed with him _there_ —but she didn't come. After waiting awake for a ridiculous amount of time, he decided it was time to do some writing.

"My Dearest," the salutation felt like a lie. He scratched it out and began again, " _Bella_ , I cannot look for you any longer. It has become clear that you don't want to be found. And I, of all people, know that when you have decided on something, it's _final_. I have always loved that about you. I admire you endlessly and I wish that you would return, but I think it's time to admit that you aren't going to. I need to live my life… I never planned on living it without you, but I need to learn how. Goodbye."

After sealing the letter, he found himself unexpectly weeping. During the blight, he feared for her life so intensely that he was in a near-constant state of dread. In some way, this felt _worse_ than letting her die on Fort Drakon—like _more_ of a betrayal. For hours he sat in his room sobbing and shouting at no one and drinking copious amounts of ale. At about midnight, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Go away," he shouted drunkenly.

"I'm coming in," called Icis.

He had hoped she would come, but not like _this_. Alistair hastily hid the letter and tried to rub the tears off his face.

"Are you all right?" asked Icis.

Alistair sat on the edge of his bed, "I just thought she would show up one day. I thought that somehow she would know we were looking for her and come home. If not for me, then for the inquisition. _She loves causes_." He took another drink and put the cup down a little too hard on his bedside table.

"Alistair, we're going to find her. I know we haven't had much success, but Morrigan thinks she might have found a way to track her and I think that’s very promising—"

"Icis," he interrupted, "she doesn't _want_ to be found. She is _incredibly_ clever and resourceful. We aren't going to find her." Alistair hung his head in defeat and sorrow.

Kneeling down in front of him, Icis grabbed his hands and looked deeply into his eyes, "Alistair, give me _one month_. If we haven't found her by then, you can go back to Denerim and we will forget this entire thing."

He nodded despondently. Looking into those purple eyes, he would have agreed to almost anything. He wanted to tell her that the saddest thing would be to leave Skyhold—to leave _her_ —but the words wouldn't come out.

Icis sat next to him and rested her head on his huge shoulder. He leaned his head onto hers and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how long they had been sitting there, but eventually he felt her body go limp next to him. She looked so peaceful. He picked her up and gently laid her in his bed. Tucking her in, he curled up next to her as they had in the tent and cursed his cowardice.


	10. Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair receives a letter that changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, which always makes me a little nervous... but Alistair's perspective during that scene is important in terms of the plot.
> 
> Comments always appreciated. :)

**Yesterday**

_**Skyhold** _

**Icis**

The next several weeks went by in a blur. Alistair and Icis worked tirelessly to invent connections where there likely were none. Although aided greatly by Morrigan's contributions, they hardly had a trail to follow. They knew that Bella had sought help at Weisshaupt and that she requisitioned historical accounts from the Hossberg mages, who were studying the 4th Blight. Alistair's original assertion that Bella might be working on something related to circles now seemed more likely.  

Alistair seemed a modicum better since that night she found him crying. She hadn't spent the night next to him again since then, though. Something about being back at Skyhold made the whole thing seem sordid. Additionally, she had rededicated herself to finding Bella and she couldn't be whole heartedly invested in that while sleeping next to Alistair.

Cullen was a different story. He had been harsh and mercurial. She assumed that he had heard some of the court gossip about the ball. The week after her return, Cullen came to her chambers. Inadvisably, she let him in. They made love in ways they hadn't before—frantic and vicious. When their desires were sated she lied awake in bed and felt more alone than ever. She found herself longing for Alistair's tent stories and warm smile. After that, she bolted her chamber doors at night. The tension in the war room was palpable, but she could barely look at him—both because of _his_ betrayal and because of her own emotional one.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Today was the last day of the trial month that Icis had proposed. During that time, she hadn't come to his room even once—maybe she was afraid she would find him crying and drunk again. This afternoon, she was scurrying around with more haste than usual trying to tie up loose ends. She was sending missives, checking in with couriers, and bouncing back and forth between the library and the war room. Alistair was impressed. He had always admired her work ethic, but this was an entirely new level of efficiency. From behind him, he heard another messenger announcing himself and saw Icis begin to spin, "Don't worry, I'll get it!" he exclaimed. She smiled as he trotted into the great hall to collect the message.

The letter was small and obviously worn. The corners of the paper were slightly torn and weathered. He flipped it over to investigate the seal and his heart sank. The dark blue wax was stamped with the Warden Commander's seal. Nearing a wall to steady himself, he ripped open the letter.

"My Dearest," it began, "I know you have been looking for me for a long time. I received many of your letters, but I could not respond for reasons I cannot explain in this note. The only important thing is that I'm coming back— _finally_. I will meet you in Skyhold in two weeks time. Love, Bella."

He stood in absolute shock. His body was simultaneously cold and hot; sweat formed in tiny beads across his brow. "Excuse me," he called to the messenger, "can you tell me how many days ago this letter was sent?"

"About 10, I'd say, your Majesty," replied the boy on his way out. "It changed hands a lot, so I can't be sure." He smiled apologetically and was gone.

Alistair hadn't recovered when Icis popped up over his left shoulder, " _so_... what is it?" she asked.

He crushed the letter in his palm and stuffed it into his pocket, "nothing of note." He attempted to smile, but his face felt dead.

"Oh," she said disappointedly, "Maybe the next one, huh?" she encouragingly elbowed him in the ribs.

 

* * *

 

Alistair went through the rest of the day in a numb haze. He managed to smile when she was looking, but his mind was racing.

_What does this mean? Where has Bella been? Why couldn't she contact me if she was all right?_

He felt a pit in his stomach every time he thought of the crumpled note. At the end of the day, he withdrew to his quarters. Once he crossed the threshold, he fell apart. Looking into the fire, he contemplated what to do. He _knew_ he needed to tell Icis—Bella would be here in just a few short days—but his feet felt glued to the floor.

Hours passed. He paced and drank and sighed. Finally, when the moon was high overhead, he stood up— _braver_ , with alcohol-fueled resolve—and marched to Icis' room.

When he arrived, the door was ajar. He heard a soft cry on the other side. He pushed the battered wooden planks aside with his shoulder and found Icis sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed, pouring over a tear-soaked letter with a dalish seal.

She retracted her limbs when she saw him. "Alistair—"

"Are you all right? What _happened_?" he asked, quickly kneeling across from her.

"Word from a dalish clan nearby…" she choked out between livid sobs, "Their first has been taken to the circle." Her eyes were bloodshot and burned with a level of rage he'd rarely seen. "She was a _friend_ of mine," she cried, "...we practically grew up together." She dropped her head between her knees and covered her head with her hands.

"I thought the edict hadn't gone into effect yet," he sputtered. "I thought you would have _time_ to plead your case to the Divine." He was incensed—the letter in his pocket became a distant memory.

"They pre-empted me," she raised her head and leaned closer to his face. "Cullen must have told them I would never agree to such an order."

Alistair grit his teeth at the mention of Cullen's name.

He settled his hands on either side of her bent knees, "What can I do?" he asked. At this moment, he would have done _anything_.

Her eyes darted back and forth between his pupils. Before he knew what was happening, they were kissing—hard enough that he had to brace himself to maintain his balance. A keening noise escaped her throat and he cocked his head to the side to look at her. Her lips, slightly parted, dared him to kiss her again.

"Be with me," she said suddenly. She was close enough that her breath felt warm on his cheek.

Alistair couldn't remember how to speak. He gripped the back of her neck with his palm and pulled her across the floor into his arms.  As their mouths crashed, he could _feel_ her smile.

Alistair wondered what he'd ever done in his life to deserve this. Certainly nothing _good_ or _noble_ —he ruefully remembered that letter in his pocket. It was burning a hole into his side. He had to do _something_.

As he considered, she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and bit the soft skin. He growled into her. He knew, suddenly, how to get rid of the aching ember in his gut—he ripped her shift off over her head and picked her up into his arms in one smooth step. She was so small—basically weightless—but radiated such power. When he released her on the bed, her posture was feral and wild. He stood at the edge of the mattress, working on the buttons of his own shirt. Just two garments left and he'd be rid of this smoldering, sinking feeling.

Icis edged toward him on her knees. Free of his shirt, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her chest flush against his. She pressed her forehead into the hollow below his clavicle and nimbly untied his pants.

That was it—as they fell to the floor around his ankles, he was _free_. He stared over her head into the fireplace. The flames danced dangerously and he knew his mind was made up. Bella wasn't his concern anymore. He was _done_.

Icis raised her head and caught his chin between her fingers. "Where did you go?" she smiled quizzically.

Alistair realized he must look far away. Although his arms and hands and lips and tongue hadn't stopped their feverish toiling, his mind was working on a much more difficult task—bucking against sense and duty, honor and logic.

He refocused his eyes and forced an easy smile. "I'm _here_." His fingers crushed into the sides of her ribcage.

Icis bit her bottom lip and clasped her hands around the sides of his hips. As she kissed a line down his chest and abdomen, he felt an anticipatory shiver run through his spine.  She must have felt it too, because when she took the tip into her mouth, he felt the vibration of a barely concealed laugh.

Alistair struggled between his eyes' involuntary need to close and his insatiable desire to watch her. He blinked painfully at each flick of her tongue and muffled mewl. As she sucked the lion's share of him into her mouth, he gasped and impulsively grabbed the side of her head. She hesitated and looked up at him through her eyelashes, a dangerous sparkle in her eyes.

That was enough. He suddenly backed up—the loss of warmth and friction nearly painful, but necessary, as he grabbed her and tossed her backward across the bed. All that stood between them was a thin layer of linen. Alistair crawled over her on his knees, pinning her thighs in place. His hands deftly untied the drawstring of her pants and pulled them away. Somewhere in the periphery he saw them fall—probably next to his own pants and that _damn letter_. He shuddered.

Icis put a palm on his cheek.

He refocused. "I want you," it sounded gentler in his head, but he was beyond forming full sentences. He slid his hand down her ribs until it found purchase on inside of her thigh. His thumb grazed the muscle attachments at her hip. They flexed and rippled with every strained movement of her legs. He marveled at how athletic she was under all that magical ability. If he were a mage, he wondered if he would have trained as hard as she clearly did—it seemed easy to ignore one's body if magic crackled out of every pore.

A tug on the hair at the nape of his neck brought Alistair back into the present. He lifted his eyes to meet Icis'. She was breathing through pursed lips, her body undulating toward his, despite her trapped lower limbs.

" _Please_ ," she whispered.

Alistair felt the edges of his mouth turn up. He tentatively dipped the edge of his middle finger inside her and watched her face. A flush crept from her cheeks toward her collar bones. Her breath was audible. Her legs, still forced close together flexed impotently—waiting to be freed from his weight.

"Not yet…" he smirked, suddenly boyish. He had completely lost control of his face. All of his energy seemed to be pooling at his center—forming a mass of heat that he couldn't quite harness.

Icis exhaled in frustration, but smiled nevertheless. As she breathed more heavily, he felt braver. Alistair added his index finger, stretching her. Her hips ground up toward him reflexively.

The next few moments passed in an absolute blur.  Suddenly Alistair was inside her, completely devoid of all sense or directed action. He was at the mercy of her whims and desires—caught in a tumultuous sea of blankets and firelight.

Eventually, he ended up on his side, her leg draped over his hip. He wished he could hold onto the details of this encounter, but considering how copiously he'd been drinking he was lucky he could _participate_ , let alone remember it all. He would settle for resting in the afterglow.

Icis was flushed and glistening under a thin sheet of sweat. He traced the outline of her jaw with his finger and quelled a little laugh that developed deep in his throat. She was so beautiful and fresh and uncomplicated. The situation, unfortunately, _was_ complicated, but that seemed far away—like a problem for another person to deal with. _Another Alistair_.

           

* * *

 

**Today**

In the morning light, the details of the night before began to filter in. He _wanted_ to say that he regretted it, but that wasn't _true_. The letter in his pocket seemed much more important _now_ than it had the night before, though. Silently, he crept out of bed and over to his pants near the fireplace. Just as he picked them up, he heard her stir.

"Just where do you think _you're_ going?" Icis said playfully.

He dropped the pants like contraband and whirled, the letter untouched. "I wasn’t sure what was going to happen this morning… just wanted to be prepared if you decided to kick me out." He managed a brittle smile.

"Well, I have plans for you that don't require any of that clothing," she said with an insouciant smirk.

Alistair's head buzzed. He knew, of course, that the longer he waited to tell her about the letter the harder the blow would be. Nevertheless, he found himself climbing back into her bed. He kissed her lazily, all the while considering his options.

He could break away and tell her about the letter now. She pulled herself into his side and kissed a line along his jaw. He could wait until they had made love two or three more times and then tell her. He kneaded the skin of her inner thighs.  Or, he could pretend he had never received the letter and feign surprise when Bella arrived. She ground her hips against his palm and sighed, lips indolently grazing his chest. He was pretty sure what he was going to do.

 _How had this_ _happened_? Until a few months ago, he was committed to a woman who had _literally_ saved his life. He had promised to be with her _always_ —even when they decided he should marry Anora for appearances and attempt to have an heir, he had been faithful in his mind—in his _heart_. Now, he couldn't remember her face or her voice or her smell. Bella had been _erased_.

He pulled Icis' leg over his hip and pressed questioningly against her. A frantic sigh passed her lips. Pushing into her, he resigned to his ignominious nature: he was going to _burn_ the note and take advantage of the few days he had before Bella's return.


	11. Two Days Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella is back and Alistair is in turmoil. He makes a variety of bad decisions--what else is new?
> 
> This is the first chapter where we get a hint of why this story is tagged Alistair/Cullen. I can't wait. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a point of interest, I have taken some liberties with how the taint connection works between wardens. In this story, I develop it into more of an empathic connection than I think it is in the canon. It becomes more important later, but this is the first chapter where we see hints of it. :) 
> 
> This is also the first chapter where Cullen's POV is used. ...I guess there are a lot of firsts in this one. :) 
> 
> Comments always appreciated.

**Two Days Later**

**_Skyhold_ **

**Icis**

Icis emerged from her chambers looking tired, but pleased. She knew her absence would be seen as a sign of defeat in light of the new circles, but she recognized that she _was_ , in fact, defeated. The dalish had already been infiltrated and with her forces commanded by Cullen, who supported the edict, she wasn't going to be able to change anything. Thinking about it made her skin crawl.

For the last two days, she had done nothing but make love, drink wine, and eat fruit. She refused all messengers and visitors who came to her door—even Dorian, who had been insistent. It was the only way to avoid thinking about this quandary. 

The door to the war room opened with a whine. She smiled at Josephine, who was sifting through a thick stack of messages. She rounded the corner to say good morning to Leliana and shot an icy glare at Cullen's back before noticing he was talking to someone on the far side of the room. The stranger had her back to her. She was an elf with long brown hair, tied up in a bun.

"Hello?" Icis said questioningly.

The elf turned with a smile. Icis noticed the pieces of hair falling out of her bun over her deep brown eyes. Dread coiled around her chest. In an instant, she realized that all their hard work had paid off—they _had_ found Bella.

"Warden Commander, Surana," she coughed, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have spent nearly a year looking for you…" she trailed off lamely, wondering if she might faint.

Bella took command of the room without even trying, "I know," she began, "I couldn't contact you—as much as I wanted to. I will explain all that later. Before we go any further, there is someone I need to see—"

Icis blinked, trying to keep the room in focus.

"—where is Alistair?" the Hero asked pleasantly.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Sun streamed in through the windows and a cool breeze nipped Alistair's skin. He was answering messages at the Inquisitor's bedroom desk. He had already begun drafting a letter to Anora that explained his need to stay in Skyhold for an indeterminate amount of time—something about Orlais—when Icis burst into the room looking like she had seen a ghost.

"What is it?" he stammered, suddenly feeling his nakedness.

"She's here… Alistair, she's _here_ —the Hero of Ferelden. She's standing in my damn war room," she said, pacing erratically.

He tried to look shocked.

"Say something!" she snapped. "She wants to _see_ you!" then she softened, "I mean… _of course_ she wants to see you. You— _we_ —sent her hundreds of letters. She is waiting for you in your chambers."

He stood with outstretched arms, "Icis—I'm sorry, I have to—"

"I know," she said, shrinking away from his attempt to touch her.

Feeling disgusted, Alistair dressed, smoothed his rumpled hair, and walked out of the room.

 

Outside his chamber door, he sensed the taint in her blood. So she really _was_ here. He hadn't truly _believed_ it until he felt it—the physical embodiment of the blight. He leaned one sweaty palm against the wide planks of the door and counted to 10 before he pushed it open. "Hi," she said. She looked exactly as he remembered her. Her dark eyes searched him.

" _Where_ have you been?" he managed.

"Let's not start there." Her lips parted—her expression unreadable.

Before he'd had a chance to collect his thoughts, they were embracing. Her head fit into the hollow of his chest like a puzzle piece. All his anguish melted into a confounding haze.

"Wait… What were you doing all this time?" he snarled, pushing her away.

She was unfazed. "It _was_ true what I told you; I was looking for a way to end The Calling."

" _Was_ true?" he asked incredulously.

"During my studies, I connected with a group of mages from the former Hossberg circle—they were studying the Fourth Blight and they found something _amazing_ , Alistair. Something that is going to change the Grey Wardens forever."

"I know all about them," he interrupted. "Icis—the Inquisitor—" he corrected, "has been trying to contact them…"

She squinted up at him. He sensed her surprise, but he couldn't understand its meaning.

"I'm here to take you back with me, Alistair," she said with finality.

"What?" Alistair felt his face contort. A voice in his head insisted that he hadn't heard her right.

"…back to Weisshaupt," she reiterated. "That's where I was…"

He blinked a few times while he tried to remember how to speak, "You were there this _whole time_? While I sent you missives and hired antivan crows to find you?" He rubbed his palm over his stubble and closed his eyes. "Bella, I thought you were _dead_."

"I'm sorry about that," she said seriously.

As she spoke, Alistair felt his jaw grow slack. Something was _wrong_ here. Her eyes were oddly vacant.

"Bella," he eyed her warily, "are you _all right_?" he asked.

"Of course." She took two steps closer to him and put a hand on his forearm.

He retracted the limb like he'd touched a flame. "Don't."

"Sorry…" she averted her eyes in contrition.

"Bella, _what_ is going on?" he asked.

"I was working for First Warden Avery—he has a plan."

"—a plan for what?" Alistair interrupted.

She smirked at him—an expression that seemed gauche and ill-timed. "I'll explain everything, I promise. First, won't you sit with me for a while?" she asked. "I want to hear everything that happened while I was away." She gripped his palm and gestured to the edge of the bed— _his_ bed.

With more zeal than he knew he had, he swatted her hand away. "Are you out of your _mind_?" he shouted. "You've been away for _years_! And now you're back and you think we can just pick up where we left off?" His voice rose until it resounded off of each wall.

"And what of the Inquisition?" he continued shouting, " _They_ need you to help them rebuild what was lost during this business with Corypheus. You did hear of the giant rift in the sky, didn't you?" he laughed sardonically. "Or did that just slip your mind while you were off doing maker-knows-what for First Warden Avery?!"

He paused, shaking and panting.

"I can't talk to you right now!"

Bella looked calm—she was utterly unflappable. "Alistair, I wish you'd stay…" she argued.

He gripped a fistful of hair at his nape and exhaled sharply. "Not right now, Bel—I _can't_." He stormed out.

 

Outside, Alistair wasn't sure where to go. There was only one place in the whole fortress he could think of and it was the only place he might not be welcome. Nevertheless, his feet carried him there. Outside Icis' quarters, he heard Cullen's voice. 

"I _know_ you saw the letter from the dalish clan two days ago. I just want to say... I'm _sorry._ " He exhaled audibly through his nose. "I tried to intervene on your behalf, but there were too many in support of this ruling. And they had already decided they wouldn't hear you at the debate because of your 'conflict of interest'," said Cullen breathlessly.

"My _conflict of interest_?" shouted Icis, "Since when is being _born_ an elf a conflict of interest!?"

Alistair paused in the hallway. If he had been in a better state of mind, he would have realized this was _not_ his moment, but he was confused and hurt and guilty and raw, so he didn't think. He roared into the room.  Cullen sneered. Icis looked miserable. Without saying a word, he walked straight up to Cullen and punched him square in the jaw. Blood spewed out of his mouth in an arc.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Cullen could not _believe_ how much his jaw hurt. He felt the pain of it through his neck and skull and heard a faint ringing in his ears. Time seemed to slow as he collected himself. As he looked from Icis to Alistair, he pieced together the obvious.

Cullen had never liked Alistair. As a small boy in the chantry, Alistair had been a terrible Templar-in-training. He was boisterous, disruptive, and _acerbic_. The Revered Mother and Sisters of the chantry had a terrible time controlling him. Of course, his antics won him the admiration of nearly everyone else. He had all the friends he could handle. 

Cullen, by contrast, was a model student, but not particularly popular. He spent his free time indoors studying the Chant of Light or outside practicing his swordsmanship. The two of them could not have been less alike. Just when they were to finally take their vows, Alistair was recruited into the Grey Wardens—a favor from those loyal to his father, no doubt.

When Cullen heard that Alistair's coronation was imminent, he cringed. He correctly assumed that Alistair would never have much aptitude for ruling. The populous, of course, loved him, but what did they know?

 

In this interminable moment, Cullen decided how to proceed. Slowly, he rose and stood face to face with his assailant. He could feel Icis' eyes on his back, but he didn't turn to look at her.

"Your Majesty…" he said through gritted teeth, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He wiped the blood from his mouth and took a step forward, never letting his eye contact falter.

Alistair clenched his jaw and bristled. "Why did you not consult me about this matter before it became a divine proclamation? As the current ruler of Ferelden, I would have strongly opposed this," he ruffled.

Cullen thought Alistair's attempt at "authoritative" was laughable. "The Divine is not in the habit of consulting with kings before she makes a proclamation. The Chantry's authority is above that of any one nation's," he said dismissively.

He heard Icis sigh behind him.

"You always _were_ an arrogant git," he muttered just loud enough for Alistair to hear him.

Something unrecognizable flickered behind Alistair's eyes—something Cullen thought he'd seen before, but couldn't place.

"Commander," said Alistair quietly, "I suggest you leave before you do or say something you'll regret." He stepped forward again. A distended vessel in his neck pulsed wildly. It reminded Cullen of sparring.

As children in the chantry, Alistair and Cullen were matched frequently. At approximately the same age and size, they _should_ have been fantastic opponents—but they _weren't_. In most situations, Cullen could disarm Alistair in a matter of seconds. One frigid, but sunny, day in Ferelden, Cullen found Alistair clumsily hitting a training dummy. His forehead was damp and his skin shined with a thin layer of sweat. His hair stuck to his neck in spots.

"What are you doing out here?" asked Cullen inquisitively.

Alistair gasped at the sound of his voice. "I didn't know you were here..." He clutched his chest with a palm and let his sword-arm hang limply at his side.

"You shouldn't let down your guard like that," said Cullen goadingly. He smirked. In the months leading up to his seventeenth nameday, he was given to bouts of imperiousness.

Alistair smiled—unassuming and gentle. "You know," he cleared his throat bashfully, "I always thought I'd be better at this by now..." the point of his sword scratched the dirt absently.

Cullen cocked his head to the side and considered. "Do you need help?"

Alistair grinned.

"Okay," said Cullen. "Stand up a little straighter." He pushed Alistair's upper spine forward a little. "And pull your shoulders in—you'll have more power in your shield arm that way..." he reached around and pulled his shoulder into a defensive position. "Now separate your feet." He kicked Alistair's boots to encourage space.

Alistair laughed, "I feel inept."

Cullen smirked. "You're okay... now hold your shield up here," he stood behind Alistair and wrapped his arms around from the back, showing him where his limbs should go. "...and your sword stays a little lower," he adjusted.

Alistair managed to hold his position, but turned to look at Cullen over his shoulder. Their faces were just an inch apart. Cullen noticed a vein in his neck and a hitch in his breath.

"Boys!" called a chantry sister.

Cullen jumped—suddenly sweating and angry. The moment cracked and broke. He turned his gaze back on Alistair's face and steeled his own expression. Cruelly, he kicked Alistair's back leg out from under him and watched him fall into the dirt.

"...you're never going to get this," he laughed darkly.

Alistair pulled his arm protectively over his eyes and squinted.

"...you might as well face it, Al..." Cullen stepped over him and Alistair flinched. "You're going to be tending the armor forever... you're not cut out for this."

Cullen didn't look back. He didn't know what had come over him, but it was something _ugly_ —something he never wanted to see again. For the next few days, he kept to himself, silently praying for absolution and wondering how to apologize—but he never got the chance, two days later Alistair was gone.

           

* * *

 

"Well?" said Alistair. He wore a quizzical expression. As reality began to filter back in, Cullen noticed the lines around Alistair's eyes that betrayed the passage of time.

Cullen wasn't sure what to say—the weight of his memory had deflated him. Instead of addressing Alistair, he turned to Icis, "Inquisitor, I apologize for the turn this has taken—we'll resume this discussion at a later time."

Cullen turned on his heel and entered the main hall without looking up. He was half way to his office in the battlements when he heard a familiar voice, "Commander?" Cullen looked up and saw Bella standing in front of him.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, mustering a weak smile.

"I was wondering where I could set up my things. I was planning to stay in Alistair's quarters, but I’m sure you know by now that our situation is _complicated_ ," she said with a knowing smile.

He suddenly remembered her candor; it made him smile.

"I can understand that," he said obligingly, "I know just the place. It's along the battlements, so I hope you aren't afraid of heights."

Bella nodded and followed Cullen to a plain, but well-kept room near his office.

"Thank you," she said.

Cullen picked up a few things he would need for the morning and threw them hastily into a pack.  "You're welcome. If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to find me. My office is just below you." He turned to leave.

"Thank you, Cullen,” said Bella.

 


	12. The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella has a plan and she'll need her best friend by her side in order to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things I especially like about this chapter:   
> 1\. The relationship between Bella and Morrigan makes me smile in a way no romance ever could.  
> 2\. We finally get to see this whole thing from Bella's perspective.
> 
> Don't worry, we'll be back with Alistair messing things up soon enough. :)

**The Next Morning**

_**Skyhold** _

**Bella**

Bella awoke to the morning light streaming in through her window on the battlements. She could already hear the clash of steel outside as the troops began their morning routines. During her time away, she had slept in lots of places like this: the smell of smelted silverite and rough leather was permanently imprinted in her mind.

A knock at the door made her sit up in bed, covers drawn up to her neck. "Come in," she called.

"Twas strange to hear that you arrived without any forewarning," said Morrigan, slipping into the room noiselessly.

As if propelled, Bella jumped out of bed and flung her arms around Morrigan. "I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life," she shouted a bit too near Morrigan's ear.

"Yes, yes…" Morrigan feigned disinterest. Bella was so _used_ to her—she knew that meant she loved Bella more than a sister and that she had been horrendously worried.

"I'm so glad you're here," said Bella. She released Morrigan and pulled a sturdy wooden chair away from the wall for her to sit on.

Morrigan alighted on an impossibly small fraction of the seat. "So…" she eyed Bella skeptically, "where have you been?"

"You really don't know?" quirked Bella.

Morrigan made a face. Bella guessed she didn't want to seem uninformed.

"I was in Weisshaupt—for most of the time," answered Bella.

Morrigan squinted at her, "With Avery, no doubt?" she smirked.

"Yes…" Bella wasn't sure she wanted to know _how_ Morrigan knew the First Warden's name.

"And?"

"And…" Bella stumbled over the words, "..and we discovered something—he has a task for me… we have to go on an unbelievable journey, Morrigan—it will be just like old times…"

Morrigan scoffed, "I have been _hoping_ you'd take me into the middle of nowhere and force me to sleep in a tent." She smirked again, "Court life has been _dull_."

Bella smiled. Being with Morrigan again was like being reunited with the other half of her heart. She had never known anyone in the world she loved more—even Alistair, whom she'd once been afraid to live without.

"All right," said Morrigan, suddenly standing, "best not to keep them waiting."

           

* * *

 

Crossing the hall toward the war room, she felt eyes on her. It was, after all, the first time she had been seen by _anyone_ in years. A few people she vaguely recognized bowed their heads as she passed. She paused at the War Room door and closed her eyes, gathering strength.

"Come on now," whispered Morrigan, "keep your chest up." She straightened in a gesture of solidarity.

Inside, everyone of note had assembled. From left to right stood Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, Alistair, and Inquisitor Lavellan. When Bella entered the room, they all pushed closer to give her space—all except Icis, who was clearly posturing.

Bella drew in a deep breath and stood impossibly close to Icis, whose face looked ashen, despite its naturally sun-drenched color. Before speaking, she took an inventory of the room. Cullen was directly across from her; she noticed he had a bruise forming on the left side of his jaw. Alistair's right knuckles were cut. There was clearly subtext here that Bella was not privy to, but her goals today were too important to do anything more than vaguely notice.

"Thank you for being here," she began. "I know you must have questions for me and I intend to answer them all eventually. For now, though, I need to insist that everything we discuss in this room stay absolutely secret. The security of the wardens, and the integrity of Thedas, is at stake."

She looked into each of their faces as they nodded in turn. "When I originally left my post as Warden Commander, I was convinced there was a way to cure the taint and prevent the Calling that eventually claims the lives of all wardens."

She locked eyes with Alistair for a second, "I knew this was possible after meeting Grand Enchanter Fiona, who used to _be_ a Grey Warden, and after speaking to several darkspawn who had become free of the old god's song." She puffed up her chest and clasped her hands behind her back. In control, she was at her best.

"My research led me across the seas and to the furthest reaches of Thedas. Eventually, I found myself in Weisshaupt."

Josephine let out a little gasp.

"While I was there, some mages from the recently dissolved Hossberg circle arrived. Through the next year, I watched as they researched the Fourth Blight."

She cleared her throat and leaned in, as if telling a secret, "Some of you already know that they found 13 griffon eggs that were magically in stasis. I am happy to report that those thirteen griffons are _thriving_ in an undisclosed location."

Leliana smiled. Morrigan rolled her eyes.

"More importantly, though, we believe we found a way to stop the old god's song. This is _imperative_ not only to stop the calling, but to prevent future blights."

The whole group looked stunned. 

"There is an entrance to a previously undiscovered section of the deep roads in the Feral Fjords," she added quickly.

Icis gasped, "that is impossibly close to the _edge_ of Thedas… not to mention it’s on the other side of the Anderfels. How would we even _attempt_ such a trip?"

For the first time since her entrance, Bella looked directly at Icis. It was unnerving—looking into those violet eyes. She wondered how people did it without flinching.

"This is a chance to change the fate of our entire _world_ , Inquisitor," she began with a quiet voice that was designed to sound innocuous, but exert authority. "We'll set out from your outpost in the Western Approach."

She began to pace, letting her voice rise to fill the room. Morrigan nodded her approval.

"From there, we turn north through Orlais and travel faster with the help of Briala's mirrors. Once we cross the Hunterhorn Mountains, we will meet Valya and several other Warden-Recruits, who will lead a small group of us through the Anderfels to the Donarks and, _finally_ , the Feral Fjords."

She paused, waiting for a response, when one did not come, she continued, "I am _not_ saying this will be easy—certainly the trip itself will take months and when we _do_ arrive, who knows what we will find… but isn't this a chance we need to take?"

Silence fell over the room like a blanket of fog.

Finally, Alistair spoke, "If this will help end the blights, I’ll do it. When I became a Grey Warden, I swore fealty to that goal." He sounded older. Bella wondered what he'd been through since she left—he seemed to have aged a decade.

Bella felt relieved, "We will need to leave some people here to run the Inquisition, I would imagine. And Cassandra, Your Grace, you _obviously_ have other matters to attend to. My suggestion would be to leave The Inquisition Advisers with the task of managing daily activities and coordinating help along our journey. Icis, Alistair, Morrigan, and I will make the trip along with whomever you choose from your Inner Circle," she said looking at Icis again.

"I can arrange that,” answered Icis, “We should approach Dorian—if we have to travel through any part of Tevinter he would be invaluable."

She turned to face Morrigan. "The Well of Mythal may be able to steer us clear of otherwise dangerous situations? Kieran can stay here and continue his studies with Josephine, of course."

Morrigan gave a little nod. Bella exchanged a look with Alistair reflexively at the mention of Kieran's name.

"All right, we all know what we need to do. Let's make arrangements as quickly as we can and be ready to set out within the week." Even when she wasn't trying explicitly, Bella couldn't help but lead. "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen stayed in the war room drafting letters and calling carrier pigeons. Cassandra left to contact chantry officials. Icis and Morrigan headed toward Dagna's alchemy workshop to outfit the group. Bella lingered in the hallway outside the office long enough to fall into step next to Alistair.

"Have you _seen_ him?" she asked urgently.

" _Who_?" asked Alistair irritatedly.

"Your _son_ ," she said through gritted teeth.

" _No_ ," he said satirically, "I've been staying here for months and I've never seen my own son."

Bella made a face. She appreciated sarcasm, but she knew Alistair used it as a coping mechanism—he must be hurting.

Alistair rolled his eyes, "Of _course_ I've seen him. Morrigan and I have endured a several-month-long fight about it. At first, I was sure she was going to turn me into a toad once and for all, but we eventually agreed that I could _see_ him as long as I never told him anything about the circumstances of his conception."

" _What was that like_?" asked Bella, wide-eyed.

"Oh, it felt _great_. Kind of like having my heart ripped out slowly through my chest and then watching it be eaten by wild dogs," he rolled his eyes again. "I've avoided running into him for months because it's too hard to take."

As he spoke, Bella could feel his anguish wash over her. "I'll talk to her about it," she offered.

"Good luck with _that_ ," he said maliciously. "You've been gone a long time, Bella," the corners of his mouth pulled down, "you may find that your relationships aren't what they once were."

Bella watched him walk away. She remembered a time when they would have walked hand-in-hand out of this meeting and planned every detail of their trip together. She had always put Thedas first, though. She had done it when Alistair became king and married Anora, she had done it when she became the Warden Commander, and she had done it when she left to put an end to the calling. The future is shaped by the past— _she_ set these events in motion.


	13. Beginning the Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis, Alistair, Bella, Morrigan, and Dorian set out toward the western recesses of Thedas to meet with the Warden Recruits from Weisshaupt. Alistair makes a VERY surprising discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the length of this story, I'd still consider this relatively expository... but we're setting the stage for what's to come. :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued support!

**Beginning the Journey**

**Icis**

The next week passed quickly. Icis appreciated having so much to work on. In the days since Bella arrived, her world felt very different. Alistair hadn't been back to her quarters since punching Cullen and neither of them had said anything to her besides what was necessary to prepare for their trip. If things continued in this fashion, the next few months on the road were going to be hard to take. At least Dorian was going to be there.

While packing for travel to their most western outpost, Dorian put his things next to hers and said, " I have a feeling we are going to need to stick together during this trip." With a wink, he hopped onto his mount and rode to the front of the caravan. Icis smiled in spite of herself and mounted her own steed.

"We ride!" she called, and they were off.

In about two days, she knew they would reach Briala’s contacts in southern Orlais and the real trouble would begin. Briala had the master key to all the eluvians. Using their other-worldly roads, she could make a two-week trip last only an hour. For Icis and for Bella, this would be an easy trip, but Icis knew that the others would be weakened by the experience. There was also a fair amount of risk involved because no one could be sure what fates would greet them on the other side.

 

* * *

 

**Two Days Later**

**Alistair**

“How can we be sure these roads between mirrors are even safe?” asked Dorian in a worried tone.

“The elves used them for hundreds of years,” answered Alistair, stepping up to the magical mirror. Its sheen was intriguing. He almost thought he could see something materializing in its blue and gold waves.

“Once we go inside, you two will be weakened." Morrigan pointed at Alistair and Dorian. "The magic that maintains these is only meant for elves. Therefore, Bella and I will lead at the front and Icis will watch the back—everyone else will sandwich in between and stay close together.”

“How is it that you won’t be affected by this, Morrigan?” asked Alistair suspiciously.

“I lived in these mirrors when my son was young, I seemed to have developed a tolerance to it,” she answered.

Alistair gritted his teeth. The way she claimed sole ownership of _their_ son made him feel suddenly hot. On top of that, _his_ son—likely the only child he would ever have—grew up _not_ in a palace, but in some sort of pseudo-realm where humans were perpetually weakened. Instead of ruminating, he strode past the others and stepped directly into the mirror.

On the other side, he squinted—the light was a sickly greenish-blue and very bright. Once he accommodated, though, he didn’t feel _so_ bad. Maybe a _little_ weaker than usual—his armor felt heavier and he was a bit cold, but no worse than traveling through the frostback mountains during winter.

“Come on in! It’s fine…” he yelled.

His voice should have echoed, but instead it was dampened and hollow. No one on the other side had a _chance_ of hearing him, but a moment later they started coming in. Bella and Morrigan stepped in back to back, both of them blinking, but none the worse for wear. Next came Dorian, who doubled over in pain once he was through the door. Finally, Icis strode in looking positively refreshed.

Alistair watched as the elves acclimated to the environment—they seemed to be stronger and healthier than they were outside. Morrigan seemed exactly the same. Dorian was another story all together. Whereas Alistair had recovered in a matter of minutes, Dorian looked as though he was getting sicker the longer he stayed—he was clutching his abdomen in pain. His face looked pale and suddenly bruised around the eyes.

Alistair walked up between Morrigan and Bella, “what is _happening_ to him?”

“I _told_ you, most humans are susceptible to this place,” answered Morrigan.

“Why am I handling it so much better?” asked Alistair, feeling strangely worried.

“Perhaps your taint increases your constitution in here,” she postulated. “I know not.”

Alistair dropped back a few paces, but not before catching a look on Bella’s face that made him think Morrigan knew more than she was letting on.

 

For the next hour, they plodded along through the _in between_ place. Luckily, Morrigan seemed to know exactly where she was going. This seemed like quite a feat because all the scenery looked the same to Alistair. He was sure they had passed the same town square with the same iron lamppost six times, and yet they had walked in nearly a straight line. Adding to the strangeness, although they all seemed to be walking at the same pace, the elves kept getting ahead of him, while Dorian kept falling behind. After observing the pattern three times, he decided not to rectify it when Icis inevitably caught up to him.

“How _are_ you?” he asked.

She looked irritated, “The air here is so clear.”

To him, it looked hazy. Maybe elven eyes worked as differently here as their legs seemed to.

“I have been wanting to see you,” he said quietly enough that no one else would hear. “I keep walking up to your tent and then losing my nerve…”

She looked up at him, still walking, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Instinctively, he reached out to touch her arm, “I miss you.”

She pulled her arm away, “I know you _think_ that’s true, but _when_ you’ve forgiven her, you’ll feel otherwise.”

Alistair watched her turn around to walk with Dorian, who looked harried. He had lost her. He had lost _so many_ people in his life. Why should this loss be unexpected? He had lost Bella. She didn’t even look in his direction without giving him an order. He had lost his son. Kieran didn’t even know he _had_ a father. He had lost his brother, his father, _and_ his mother. Everyone was gone.

 

Up ahead, Morrigan stopped in front of another mirror. This was their exit, apparently.

On the other side of the mirror, Alistair felt slightly better.

Dorian looked _alive_ again. “Where are we?” he asked.

Morrigan motioned for the group to follow her up a set of ancient stairs and out into the sunlight. Snow capped mountains stretched up in front of them for as far as they could see. “The Hunterhorn Mountains!” she called over the whipping winds.

The group stood agape. They had traveled hundreds of miles and emerged in a section of Thedas that had barely even been mapped by explorers. Alistair thought the slight discomfort of being in the “in-between” space was an acceptable price to pay, but he doubted Dorian would agree with him.

Bella stood on a small rock to address the group, “This is where we are scheduled to meet the Warden Recruits from Weisshaupt. They won’t be here until tomorrow, I’d imagine, so let’s take this opportunity to recover from the journey so far.”

 

* * *

 

After sunset, when everyone had eaten and begun to retreat to their tents, which were in a tight circle, Alistair approached Bella fireside.

“I need to ask you a question,” He hunched his shoulders and spoke into her ear, craving privacy.

She squinted up at him, “what is it?”

“Why wasn’t I affected by the in-between space?" She opened her mouth to dismiss his question, but he interrupted her, " _Don’t_ try to tell me it’s the taint—you know as well as I do that the taint makes us immune to darkspawn, but _vulnerable_ to basically everything else."

“Alistair, this might not be the right time,” she scanned the campsite with wide eyes.

“If it’s _that_ serious, I _really_ need to know…” he said furrowing his brow.

Bella gripped the angle of his elbow and pulled him onto a log next to the fire. “Your mother is an elf,” she whispered.

Alistair blinked. His mouth was suddenly dry. As was his habit, he started babbling, “I guess it makes sense that the servants in Maric’s castle were elves…”

Bella shook her head dismissively, “You aren’t related to any serving girl. It was a _lie_ … a lie to keep you _and_ your mother safe,” she whispered earnestly.

Alistair was stunned. His entire life he thought his mother was _no one_ —a faceless servant in his father’s castle. But that was a _lie_ —she was someone important enough to require three decades of lies from _everyone_ he had ever known.

“Well… who is she?”

Bella made a face that he knew meant she was considering the ramifications of answering.

“Bella. Who—is—she?” he repeated. His neck was hot and he felt beads of sweat forming under his collar.

“The former Grand Enchanter— _Fiona_.” Bella's mouth tightened around the name.

Alistair was reeling. He had known his mother all this time. He had a _family._

Bella reached out to touch his hand, but he recoiled.

“I need to think this through,” he said, standing abruptly. “ _Thank you_ for telling me this."

 

* * *

 

Alistair lay awake tossing and turning until long after everyone seemed to be asleep. Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly lie there in silence anymore, he felt Bella outside his tent. Peeking through the tent flaps, he called, “What are you up to?”

“I was coming to check on you. I could sense that you weren’t sleeping,” she said.

It was strange being with her again. It was simultaneously comforting and _creepy_ to have someone around who could sense his moods. She pulled the flap aside and crawled in next to him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Sort of…” he said thoughtfully, “I just realized that I finally _know_ my mother, but, depending on how this goes, I may never see her again.”

Bella nodded understandingly.

“It’s not that I expect us to be close _right away_ …” he mused, “it’s just that I want to give her the chance to explain _why_ she gave me away. What the circumstances were, you know?"

“ _Alistair_ ,” Bella interrupted his train of thought, “I think that part is pretty obvious. You’re the ruler of a country; you _can’t_ be an elf.”

Alistair bit his bottom lip. It was a _tiny_ taste of prejudice, but he thought he understood more clearly than ever before what Bella's _whole life_ must have been like.

"...so she did it _for you_ , really," concluded Bella.

He could feel a tension between them—like something was left unsaid. He couldn’t tell if it was the taint or their level of intimacy that let him feel it.

“Is there something _else_?” he asked gently.

“I just _wish_ that we lived in a world where you could be an elf _and_ a king. You’re a _great_ king. Does it change anything for you to also be half-elf?” she asked rhetorically.

Instinctively, he put his arm around her and pulled her close. “It’s _ridiculous_. In a fairer world, _you_ would be the king, you know. You’re the best leader I’ve ever met.” He laughed meagerly.

She smiled up at him and put a hand on his knee.

“I mean it!” he said with a wry smile, “You should _see_ yourself. You’ve been here a couple weeks and you’ve totally taken over. _Even Cullen listens to you_ … are you sure you’re not using blood magic on him?”

Bella elbowed him in the ribs and they both laughed. For a second, Alistair felt a decade younger.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, he awoke with her nestled into the side of his body. It was so nostalgic; he nearly expected to open the tent in Ferelden and go on to fight the Fifth Blight. He turned his head and nuzzled her forehead. She woke with a start, sitting bolt upright. When she realized where she was, she softened.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily, stretching her arms overhead.

He pushed up onto his elbows and smiled. “Good morning.”

He felt like they had seen each other every day for the last 2 years—like no time had passed since the last morning they woke up together. Outside, he heard the rest of their group packing and he knew the dream was starting to unravel.

"Bel?" he said suddenly, grabbing her wrist as she tried to leave.

She turned, an eyebrow raised, "yes?"

"Are we _all right_?" he asked seriously.

"Yes, Alistair," she smiled—a bit sadly. "We're all right." With that, she was gone.


	14. Travelers from Weisshaupt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella's contacts from Weisshaupt arrive at the camp with bad news. Icis deals with her feelings about Bella and about herself. Lots of backstory about blood magic, elves, and the wardens. There's action coming in this next one. Promise. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three characters from The Last Flight appear for the first time in this chapter. They become rather central to the plot. That book is amazing, if you haven't read it. :)

**Later that Night**

**Bella**

Bella stood atop a hill and looked east. She expected the Warden Recruits several hours ago. Under the yellow sunset, there was still no sign of them. She had a feeling something was _wrong_. When she had been standing there long enough that the light was fading, Morrigan sauntered up beside her and looked out into the mountains.

“No sign of our allies?” she asked.

Bella squinted, “not yet… I’m starting to wonder if something is wrong.”

“I wouldn’t worry _yet_ , the weather has been unpredictable, maybe they have just been slowed,” offered Morrigan. "I would be happy to stand here with you until we see them," she offered.

Bella smiled and took Morrigan's hand between them. It was in moments like these that their bond was cemented—in silence, in the heat of battle, in shared experience.

 

After another half hour, Bella was about to give up when she noticed fire in the distance.

“Morrigan, look! Can you tell if that’s them?” asked Bella.

Morrigan transformed into a crow and flew thirty feet into the air. A moment later, she was back on the hill with Bella.

“Valya is there, but she only has two companions,” Morrigan said darkly. “Something may have befallen their party, I fear.”

Bella steeled her expression, “Go meet them. I will go back and brief the rest of the group.”

 

As she rounded the corner, Bella saw Alistair. He was sitting on a log staring into the fire, without truly seeing. His uncertainty stung her as she got close. " _Damn warden senses_..." she cursed as she walked. Pushing away a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she addressed the group.

“Valya and two others have been spotted just a few minutes away from us. When they arrive, we will need to be ready to move.”

Everyone looked uneasy.

“Weren’t we expecting a larger group?” asked Dorian.

Bella breathed in deeply, “We _were_ … I am sure we will be able to discover the truth of this matter soon, but this makes it _even more important_ that we are ready to go.”

Nodding to each worried pair of eyes in turn, Bella returned to the lookout to wait for Morrigan. Her mind was racing. Maybe the others had taken a different route and would arrive shortly. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered, “ _or maybe they’re dead_.” Shaking off a chill, she peered out into the darkness.

A minute later, Morrigan’s staff appeared, a wisp of blue light sprang from its tip, illuminating their path. Valya was next to Morrigan. Two others trailed a few steps behind, looking haggard. One was a handsome blond elf called Caronel—a full warden, not a recruit. The other was a statuesque human with long brown hair. Bella couldn’t recall her name, but she remembered that she was an ex-templar. As the group neared Bella’s perch on the hillside, Bella lit her own staff as a beacon.

Valya smiled when she saw Bella. It was in times like these that Bella remembered how _young_ Valya was—she was barely 18 and had the face of a child. When Bella became a Warden at 18, times were different—the archdemon had already appeared in the sky and the darkspawn horde was barreling toward Ferelden. Without a blight looming, the joining was a dangerous gamble. If they _could_ cure the taint, people like Valya would not have to _fear_ the joining. Grey Wardens would be able to fight darkspawn and be cured in time to have families of their own.

Bella hugged Valya when she finally arrived on the hill. “How _are_ you?” she asked with concern.

Valya tried to smile. “Weisshaupt is in chaos,” she began. “Since the false callings started, there had been unrest, but the First Warden’s response was poorly planned. He immediately called all the wardens back to Weisshaupt and began to punish those who were involved." Valya sipped hair between stanzas. "He sent _legions_ of them into the deep roads under the guise of atonement— _they never returned_. Reimas and I,” she pointed over her shoulder at the dark-haired woman, “barely escaped before we were forced to undergo the joining. Caronel got us out at the last possible second—we were too late for the others.”

Bella put her arm around Valya’s shoulders. "I don't understand—First Warden Avery _sanctioned_ our entire journey; what changed?"

Valya shrugged.

"Please, Bella, she needs to rest—" said Caronel. He was looking at Valya pityingly.          Bella could _feel_ his anxiety when he got close. She nodded and led the group back to the fire. Everyone looked up—tentatively hopeful—when they approached.

“Everyone,” Bella began, “This is Valya.” She didn’t let go of Valya’s shoulders as everyone greeted her. In the year they had known each other, Valya had become like a little sister to Bella.

“Her companions are Caronel and Reimas,” she continued, congratulating herself silently for remembering Reimas’ name. “Caronel and Valya are mages, so they will coordinate with Icis and Dorian. Reimas was a templar, so Alistair: check in with her,” she directed.

Bella squeezed Valya’s shoulders one more time before letting her go. Morrigan stayed next to Bella while everyone else broke off into groups.

“What do you think?” whispered Bella.

“I think they are _very lucky_ ,” answered Morrigan.

* * *

 

**The Next Morning**

**Icis**

Icis felt simultaneously frenzied and eerily calm.  Last night had been spent strategizing movement patterns for different types of foes, deciding who should take which battle roles, and exchanging spells. Icis had learned a lot about each of them that she didn’t expect. Morrigan, for example, had advanced knowledge of healing spells. Caronel was an arcane warrior. Valya was most comfortable with elemental magic and knew many of the same spells Icis used herself.

The most shocking news of the night was that Bella used _blood magic_. Even among the dalish, this was _rare_ and regarded with suspicion, but Bella didn’t seem worried about possession at all. Apparently, Grey Wardens used _any means necessary_ to defeat blights. When she and Alistair were the _only_ Grey Wardens left in all of Ferelden, it had been just another weapon in their collective arsenal.

 

While waiting for Valya’s arrival yesterday afternoon, Icis and Alistair had fallen into a bizarre dance. When she first saw him coming out of his tent with Bella, she was resentful. She _shouldn’t_ have been—they were together for a decade. For the rest of the afternoon, she and Alistair tangoed between their tents and the campfire, never quite in step. For a moment, she caught herself smiling remembering their dance in Val Royeaux—that seemed like an age ago now.

Disgruntled, she shoved the last few items into her pack and grabbed her staff. Looking out over the mountains, she considered which route they should take. This was mostly habit, though, since Bella seemed to be running _everything_ now.

Icis was used to leading, but compared to Bella she felt like a novice—there was no sense vying for power. Additionally, she had grown to really _like_ Bella, despite the awkwardness of their situation. Certainly, it wasn’t either of their faults they had fallen in love with the same person. She caught herself— _fallen in love? Is that what had happened?_ A twig snapped behind her.

Bella smiled, “Is there anything I can help you with before we leave?”

Icis stiffened, “I think I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Can you _believe_ how beautiful it is?” Bella said dreamily. “No one has been here in hundreds of years.”

“Amazing…” mumbled Icis. She cursed silently. Bella was a hero to _all_ elves. Even dalish clans appreciated her sacrifices—quite an accomplishment, considering they treated most city elves like _collaborators_. She _had_ to try this again.

“I think Valya and Caronel are going to be very helpful.” Her voice sounded higher than usual. “I’m sure Reimas will be too… I just don’t know her yet…” she trailed off awkwardly.

“I think so too,” said Bella cheerfully. “Valya is a very talented mage. She was trained in a circle from a young age, but she excels at learning _new_ spells—types of magic she didn’t learn there.”

This talk of circles struck a nerve with Icis. She was imagining clan-firsts being dragged away just weeks ago. “How long were you in the Ferelden Circle, Bella?” she finally asked.

“Just over 11 years,” she answered plainly. “I was taken from the alienage in Denerim when I was 7. I barely remember it. Apparently I set a cart on fire and the templars were on me before I even knew what was happening.”

“That sounds _horrible_ …” said Icis, her eyes wide.

“Oh, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way,” said Bella. “My life in the circle was arguably better than it would have been in the alienage.”

Icis looked horrified.

“We were allowed to study,” continued Bella. “We had friends and mentors… some of them were even Templars!” she smiled wryly. “Your Commander Cullen was a dear friend of mine in the circle, did you know that?”

Icis swallowed hard at the mention of his name. “I _did_. He told me that you were an excellent student.”

“That’s nice of him. I wish things had turned out differently for him. The last time I saw him—before Skyhold—he was in a magical prison fashioned from blood magic.” She spoke absently, as if she were benignly discussing the weather.

Icis furrowed her brow, “Bella… aren’t _you_ a blood mage?”

Bella rolled her eyes reflexively, “Not everyone who uses blood magic has let the power take them over. Nor have they made deals with demons. The spirits I learned my magic from were spirits of power, intuition, intelligence, and wisdom. It is only when envy, terror, pride, and desire take over that mages get in over their heads—smart decisions make all the difference.”

Icis considered that silently for a moment.

“I thought the dalish were more accepting of blood magic?” Bella asked eventually, a laugh on her lips.

“Theoretically, that’s true,” said Icis seriously. “If someone _happens_ to use blood magic, we don’t necessarily banish them… but we certainly don’t _encourage_ it. The Keeper of my clan warned me about the dangers of blood magic since I was a child.”

“Interesting,” said Bella. “Did you _want_ to learn it?”

Icis was offended, even though she knew that was irrational. Bella obviously wasn’t judging her. Her fear was deeply ingrained. “I am not sure…I was so afraid of it, I never considered what I _wanted_.”

Bella looked directly at her, with a level of eye-contact that made Icis want to look away. “Do you want to learn it _now_?”

Icis wasn’t sure. She found herself nodding anyway.

“When we get to Laysh, I will begin your lessons,” said Bella. She smiled again and turned to head back to the group.


	15. Through the Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella leads group through the Hunterhorn Mountains toward Laysh. All seems well until they encounter an unexpected foe and have to fight for their lives. Alistair makes a discovery about what he'd be willing to do for Bella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More adorable bestie-conversations between Bella and Morrigan. 
> 
> If you're interested in the geography of this trek, my favorite map is this one: http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120816012340/dragonage/images/9/96/ThedasPoliticalMap.jpg. It is color coded so you can see the borders of each country. 
> 
> Happy reading!

**3 days later**

_**The Hunterhorn Mountains** _

**Bella**

 

From the head of the group, Bella looked back. They had been traveling through this mountain range for three days and they were _definitely_ worse for wear.

“Warden Commander,” called Reimas. She walked quickly to catch up to Bella.

“Yes?” Bella looked up expectantly. For some reason, she couldn’t keep track of Reimas—every time she saw her she seemed _new_.

“Some of the others are getting uneasy,” said Reimas. “They’re wondering why you decided to take us this way…” Reimas was looking at her intently enough that Bella felt threatened.

“And you’re here _because..._?” Bella asked. She was unnerved.

Reimas suddenly blushed. “You’re right—I shouldn’t have said anything…” she turned to rejoin her comrades, but Bella caught her arm.

“You’re here because you want to make sure we stay cohesive?” Bella raised an eyebrow. “It’s a nice idea,” she smiled.

Reimas tentatively returned the look. Her sharp features seemed to soften.

“I was concerned about taking you too close to Weisshaupt, considering what’s happening there,” explained Bella. “I know this is the harder route, but it might prove safer—no one is going to see us out here.”

Reimas nodded.

They walked side by side for the next fifty feet. Reimas wasn’t a full warden, but Bella could feel nervousness pouring off of her anyway.

“Anything else on your mind, Recruit?” asked Bella. The formality was a joke—‘ _recruit_ ’ wasn’t something she’d normally call _anyone_ —but Reimas didn’t laugh.

Reimas hesitated. “N-no,” she stuttered. “Thank you, Commander.”

“You can call me Bella,” she winked.

Reimas blushed again and ran backward to meet her friends. Bella mused that blushing must be part and parcel to being a templar these days—Alistair certainly had it down.

Turning back to the path ahead, Bella almost ran into Morrigan, who had materialized directly in front of her.

"Sorry!" she laughed. "I never know when you're about to show up!"

Morrigan smirked, " _That_ is by design."

They exchanged a look—a silent understanding of intimacy.

"How does it look up ahead?" asked Bella.

"It gets flatter in about three miles; it's just a matter of maintaining our speed at that elevation," answered Morrigan darkly.

Bella bit her lip, "at least we don't have any dwarves with us this time. Do you remember Oghren when we crossed the Frostbacks?" she laughed, "He was so terrified the whole time that he eventually got sick and passed out?!"

Morrigan smiled again and looked nostalgic. "We were so _young_ ," she finally said.

"We aren't _old_ now, Morrigan," said Bella literally. Then she paused, "I _do_ know what you mean, though. Somehow, there is more riding on our actions now. You must feel it even more with Kieran."

"I do, indeed," said Morrigan seriously. "I consider every decision now—not one is truly my own."

Bella thought about that—she wondered what it would have been like to have children of her own. By the time she became a Grey Warden and learned she would likely _never_ have children, it was not shocking because as a mage in the circle, she would not have been allowed to anyway. She had never cared, though. Her life was no place for a child. She had always been content to fight for the children of others—to champion the disenfranchised. Now, though, with her best friend settling into the role of ‘mother,’ she felt left out. It wasn't that she _wanted_ children; she just wanted to be in the same stage of life as Morrigan.

"Do you ever think that you might have made a _mistake_ with Kieran?" asked Bella suddenly.

" _What_ do you mean?" asked Morrigan. Her eyes narrowed.

"Do you wish he wasn't part of a _spell_?" Bella clarified.

"Ahh," began Morrigan, "Sometimes. Although I probably would not have had him at all had it not been to save your life, so it is hard to say what I wish."

"Does he know anything?" asked Bella.

"He knows that he used to hear the old god's song, but Flemmeth stole it after I absorbed the well… so now he is just a normal child. When he is grown, he will probably think it was all a dream," answered Morrigan, looking off into the distance.

"That's probably best," said Bella.

Morrigan nodded and smiled, "I’m going to make sure no one is falling behind." Magically, she was a bird again.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

“Okay, Alistair, I’ve had enough,” said Dorian. His cheeks were pink from the whipping wind and he was winded from the steep gradient.

“Enough of what?” asked Alistair, smiling.

“ _What_ are you planning to do about this?” he asked. His lips pinched together expectantly.

Alistair had no idea what he was talking about, but he wasn’t sure admitting that was wise. “I’m not sure… what do _you_ think I should do?” he hedged.

“I think you should go tell Icis what’s going on in that pretty head of yours so she can stop torturing herself,” he said flatly.

 _Oh. This is about Icis_.

“I would do that—if she were speaking to me.” He brushed a palm through his hair. Scattered snow fell onto his shoulders and chest. He shook his head to free the rest of the wayward flakes.

“That’s a sorry excuse,” mumbled Dorian. He was smiling, though. Alistair couldn’t figure him out.

They walked the next mile in silence while he thought.

“Do you think we are really going to find a cure?” Dorian finally asked.

“If Bella thinks we will, I’m _sure_ we will,” Alistair said definitely. “She _manufactures_ positive outcomes,” he said, smiling sadly. “When she said I could be a good king, I believed her.”

Dorian smirked, “I think that remains to be seen—you’ve been away from court for an _awfully_ long time, your Majesty.” They both laughed.

 

Suddenly, there was a scream up ahead. Valya was already weaving a protection spell around the party before he realized what they were fighting. Great blue wings flapped above them, blocking the sunlight. Alistair shuddered. He hadn’t seen a dragon since the blight, but he would never forget the way it felt to be near them—their breath heated the air while their wings picked up debris and sent it flying in every direction. They attacked without regard for their own health—until their prey was dead.

Channeling his energy inward, he raised his shield overhead and braced as fire lapped at him from around its magically enchanted edges. His armor and arms had been made by Wade, who had used dragonscale and silverite to make space for enchantments that blocked the elements. Never had he been so happy to be wearing forty pounds of armor.

As the dragon turned around for another pass, Alistair managed to get to the center of their group. Icis was making walls of ice around their perimeter while Dorian and Valya kept double-shielding in place. Caronel and Reimas joined Alistair in the center.

When he looked at Bella, Alistair saw blood dripping from her wrists. She was trying to _control_ the dragon—to lower its defenses or maybe send it reeling into a cliff. He worried when she did this. As a templar-in-training he’d seen mages turn into abominations right in front of him. He was sure the deals they made in the fade seemed harmless at the time, but they hadn’t been strong enough to handle it. Bella was strong, though, _very strong_ , he reminded himself.

As the dragon circled, Caronel traded his magical crossbow for two longswords imbued with electricity. The three of them stood in a triangle and used their passive rallying abilities to bolster the group’s defense. When the dragon came closer, the three separated and hacked at its legs while the mages shot spells at weak spots.

The rotation seemed to be working well. Each time the dragon came down it seemed slower and less coordinated than the time before. When they weakened it enough, it landed on the ground ahead of them and they made a semi-circle around it. Although it was weakened, it was arguably more dangerous on the ground. Its talons were at least two feet long and its teeth were encrusted with dried blood and gore. From its vulnerable position on the ground, it lashed out erratically into their ranks and forced them to dodge more than attack.

Over Alistair’s shoulder, Bella’s eyes were glassy. She looked exhausted and she wasn’t alone. All the mages’ mana pools were nearly empty. Morrigan was emanating an aura that boosted their ability to regenerate, but it wasn’t fast enough.

 

The dragon flailed and screeched, turning on Dorian and Valya. They barely got their barriers up in time to avoid being scorched. Alistair’s lungs hurt from breathing in so much cold air and his sword arm was feeling weaker by the minute. The dragon was weakened, but it showed no signs of slowing its attack.  Caronel had switched back to normal spells after exhausting his ability to enchant weapons. Reimas was still charging at the dragon’s front right leg, but Alistair could tell she was fading.

Over his shoulder, he heard Icis calling out to Bella and he intuitively turned. Bella dropped to her knees behind a rock. He ran to her side at the same moment Icis did. Bella’s mouth was still opening and closing, but there was no sound coming out. Her wrists were bleeding into puddles in the snow and she looked deathly pale. Alistair acted on pure instinct. He picked up Bella like a ragdoll and pulled her behind a group of scraggly trees, with Icis running close behind. On the ground, he put his hands on her face and tried to make her focus.

“Bella, keep your eyes open,” he said, trying to hide the panic in his voice. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’re going to be fine.”

“Icis, go get Morrigan,” he barked.

Icis looked shocked, “I _can’t_. They’re all _depending_ on her to keep fighting,” she said.

Alistair didn’t think, “Damn it, Icis— _go get her_!" he yelled, "I _just_ got Bella back, I’m not going to lose her again!” It occurred to him all at once that no matter how angry he was he would trade her life for the lives of everyone else he knew in an instant.

Icis’ gaze fell—her expression somewhere between disappointment and disgust—but she didn't move.

“Just wrap her wrists." He steeled his expression, "I'll handle this."

Alistair ran back to the group, fueled by adrenaline.

“Everyone!” he yelled over the noise of the fight, “we cannot kill it, but we _can_ push it.” He pointed to the cliff edge and everyone followed his gaze. “To me!”

The rest of the group ran to his position and began to put their magical and physical weapons together all pointing toward the valley on the other side of the dragon.

Dorian and Valya formed their magical barriers into a thick shield and the others shot spells into its concave surface to give it momentum. Soon, the whole combustible bulwark was hurtling toward the wounded dragon. At the same time, the warriors flanked the dragon to block its exits to the sides. In a moment that seemed eternal, the dragon was pushed back over the ledge. Its claws left six-inch-deep gouges in the dirt and it screamed as it plummeted flightlessly into the abyss below. When it had finally fallen out of sight, the silence around them was as thick as fog.

Catching his breath, Alistair shouted, “Morrigan: I need you.”

She nodded and ran after him, as did the rest of the group.

When they approached Bella, Icis shook her head at them. Bella’s eyes were closed and her breathing looked labored. Her head was lying limply against Icis’ lap.

“Morrigan,” yelled Alistair, “I don’t understand… she’s fought more fearsome enemies than this a hundred times since we’ve known her.” His voice was thick with indignation.  

Morrigan knelt down beside her and began to weave a healing cocoon of magic around her. “We need to find a place to make camp so I can treat her. It may take me several hours.”

Alistair nodded and led the group forward, past the sight of their battle. The ground was scorched and shredded, but he knew the dragon _wasn’t_ dead. He hoped he had made the right decision in pushing it off the cliff. Once dragons got the smell of potential prey, they _never_ gave up—they would see it again once it recovered. Next time, he would be ready.


	16. The Town of Laysh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis and Alistair finally talk while Bella is unconscious. When they arrive in Laysh, Alistair decides to be transparent for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of conversations... some funny, some sad... a little implied sex.
> 
> More hints of Cullen and Alistair's past in this chapter... just little ones. :)

_**Campsite** _

**Icis**

"Are you sure this is far enough away?" asked Dorian, unpacking his bedroll.

"I hope so," whispered Icis. She glanced at him sideways. Honestly, though, she wasn't sure. Dragons had a way of stalking prey to the ends of the earth—she'd certainly fought enough of them to know that.

Icis could see Morrigan's silhouette through Bella's tent wall. She was working hard to heal her. Alistair was pacing erratically just outside.

"Hey," she said, calmly approaching him, "how are you holding up?"

He looked up from the dirt as if he was seeing her for the first time. "Hi…" he mumbled, "okay, I guess."

"She's going to be fine, you know," assured Icis.

"I know she is..." said Alistair with a level of certainty Icis wasn't expecting.

She pinched her eyebrows together questioningly.

"I _know_ because I can feel her in there—she's a little scared, but mostly _furious_. She's definitely _alive_ , though."

"How can you feel that?" asked Icis.

"It's a warden thing…" Alistair sat suddenly on a tree stump and motioned for her to sit next to him. "See Caronel over there?" he pointed at the blond elf.

Icis nodded.

"He's full of anxiety," he said plainly.

"Why?" asked Icis.

"I can't tell you that part," he almost laughed, "but I _can_ tell you that he gets this _fluttery_ feeling every time Dorian talks to him…"

Icis smiled. "It must have been strange when you lived with all the wardens before the blight. No one could keep any secrets…" she mused.

"That's true—it felt wonderful, actually," he stared at a spot in the distance. "You can't _imagine_ what a relief it is to never wonder if someone is lying."

Icis blinked up at him, "But I thought you said you couldn't tell what they were thinking?"

"I can't," said Alistair, "but lies have a dark feeling attached to them—it's _easy_ to see."

Icis laughed darkly, "I could have used that when I was dealing with Cullen…"

"Me too," said Alistair. He was grinning broadly.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Oh," his smile faded instantly, "…when we were younger, I mean. He was really hard to read…" He bristled, suddenly uncomfortable.

Icis wasn't sure what that meant.

"…One day he'd offer me cheese and the next he'd punch me…" continued Alistair.

Icis smirked, "Didn't you just punch _him_?"

Alistair smiled, "…I suppose I did… but _trust me_ , he had it coming."

             

* * *

 

What seemed like a second later, Icis was blinking into firelight.

"Icis?" Alistair shook her gently. "Bella's awake—we need to pack up and be ready to move before sunrise."

Bella was sitting up and coughing in the next tent over. Icis crawled over to sit with the rest of the group in a circle around Bella. She looked a bit pale, but _whole_.

Morrigan asked the question they were all thinking, “What happened on that cliff?”

Bella took a deep breath. “The dragon wasn’t what it seemed, Morrigan. I think it was a shapeshifter.”

Morrigan took Bella's hand in her own. "A mage powerful enough to become a dragon is rare—and incredibly dangerous," she said to the group.

“All the more reason we shouldn’t stay here,” said Alistair hurriedly. “We need to move— _tonight_.”

             

* * *

 

**The Next Morning**

**Alistair**

“How old were you when you had your Joining?” asked Valya out of the blue.

“19?” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

“I haven’t taken my joining… I _would_ , though,” she said with determination.

“During a blight, it’s one thing,” he said softly, “but during _peace_ , I don’t think rushing into the joining is wise.”

She made a face.

“I’m not saying that being a Grey Warden isn’t _fun_ —I mean the constant dreams of the Archdemon and looming threat of death are _really_ a trip…” he laughed, “but honestly, just drinking the darkspawn blood kills almost half of all recruits. Why take that risk when there isn’t a blight?”

She looked at him earnestly, “I was just a child when you and Bella fought the blight, but you were _heroes_ to us—especially Bella…not only an elf, but a _mage_. She made me feel like I could _be_ something outside of the circle. I would gladly give my life for that.”

He smiled, “that’s admirable, but I think you’ve done something amazing already. I heard about your griffons.”

Her eyes sparkled, “you should see them! They’re amazing—kind of _scary_ , actually.”

“And what we’re doing now… I think this might make it so that no one has to undergo the joining anymore,” he said encouragingly.

“Maybe…” considered Valya, “I don’t know, though, I have a feeling things are going to be much more complicated once we get into that deep roads entrance.”

“You’re probably right…” said Alistair, “I’ve been in the deep roads a few too many times. I don’t know how dwarves can stand to live there.”

“I’ve never been down there… but I’ve read all about it during my investigation of the Fourth Blight. It sounds horrible,” said Valya with a shudder.

Alistair wanted to assuage her fears, “Don’t worry, kid, just stick with me,” he joked.

She smiled up at him and they continued plodding through the snow.

 

* * *

 

**Six Days Later**

_**Laysh** _

**Icis**

Icis saw smoke on the horizon. Her heart leapt. It had taken them much more time to travel through the mountains to Laysh than anyone expected. At least the weather had changed. As they headed north, they approached the equator and even though it was winter, it was warm here. The snow covered peaks had disappeared two days ago and as their elevation lowered they had taken off layers of clothes. With the town of Laysh coming into focus, she was more excited than she had any right to be.

From her position at the back of the group, she watched as Bella and Morrigan conversed with the gate guards. Apparently, this was a walled city—Icis wondered morbidly what the gates were meant to keep out. By the time she reached Bella, Morrigan had already reached an arrangement to spend a few nights in the inn here. Icis thought about a bath and already felt cleaner.

Despite the arid landscape, there was lush vegetation on the other side of the gates—green sprigs and purple flowers coated the ground. Humans and elves seemed to be freely roaming the area and even a few dwarves were maintaining shops. Maybe its remote location had created more tolerance than Icis was used to.

With a group of eight, they filled the inn to capacity and still had to double up. Before Icis even got inside the building, the sleeping arrangements had been handled by Dorian. Caronel and Dorian would stay _together_ —a move that Icis knew was not coincidence. Bella and Morrigan took the largest room and Reimas and Valya took a double. Alistair and Icis would, therefore, stay in the last room.

"So… this isn't awkward at all," joked Alistair. He shifted his weight uncomfortably and scratched his scalp.

Icis almost laughed. The whole situation was messy. "It won't be when we're done with this…" she pulled a bottle of antivan brandy from her pack.

"You've been carrying that around this whole time?" asked Alistair.

"I had a feeling we might _need_ it," she smirked as the cork came free with a pop. She took a swig straight from mouth of the bottle and swallowed hard. "Whooo," she grimaced, "that is _strong_."

Alistair reached out for the bottle and tested it. His face told her he agreed.

"I need a bath," she said suddenly. There was a freestanding tub on the far side of the room. It was only delineated from the rest of the room by a translucent screen.

Alistair looked down at his feet. "I'll go downstairs to the tavern for a while…"

Icis squinted at him. She wasn't sure _why_ , but she wanted him to stay. "It's nothing you haven't seen before," she baited.

Alistair blushed. "I realized that…" his expression changed—something more confident replaced his nervous smile.”I just didn't know what our _status_ was on that front." He took two steps closer to her and dropped a palm onto her waist.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled girlishly. "We'll have to see." She sidestepped him and dropped her robes, facing away from him. She heard his weight shift against a creaky floor board as she magically filled and warmed the bathtub.

"Icis…" his voice was suddenly right behind her and shaking slightly.

She stepped into the water and turned slowly to face him. What she saw was _not_ what she expected. He looked positively tortured.

"What's the matter?" she asked suddenly. She rested her elbows on the edge of the tub and leaned toward him.

"Icis, I need to tell you something…" mustered Alistair.

"What?"

"I knew Bella was coming back," he admitted. He wouldn't meet her gaze—his eyes hovered somewhere between them on the floor.

Icis bit the inside of her cheek to make sure she could still _feel_. She wasn't sure she was awake.

"I'm so sorry, Icis," he mumbled.

"How long?" she asked.

"I just got word that day—the day we…" he trailed off.

"I see." She turned away from him and absently washed her shoulders. She wasn't angry, per se. She was just surprised. If there was one thing she _wouldn't_ have expected from Alistair, it was subterfuge.

"I wanted to tell you…" his voice was suddenly right next to her—his breath hot on her neck.”I just—I didn't—" he interrupted himself. "I don't actually have a good excuse." He brushed a hand across his forehead and sighed.

Icis considered. She couldn't think of a suitable response to this error. Instead, it sparked more questions. She turned so quickly their noses brushed. "What other secrets are you hiding?"

"Um…" he stumbled, his face turning a greenish-grey.”I have a few, to be honest." The right side of his mouth turned up—as if he'd just remembered a long-forgotten joke.

"And?" Icis felt her eyebrows pinch together.

"…and I'll tell you them _all_ ," said Alistair.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Three hours later they were lying on two small beds, separated by a night table, but he felt like there was no space between them. He had already explained his son and the agony it caused him whenever he saw Kieran. He gave details about his _own_ mother—the heritage he _couldn't_ espouse. He _tried_ to clarify what seeing Bella for the first time was like—how strangely hollow she'd seemed. But how terribly rational and sweet and _good_ she actually was underneath.

Icis could have turned away from him—he wouldn’t have blamed her—but instead she rolled onto her side and faced him with her head resting thoughtfully on her hand.

“You nearly kicked your mother out of the country?” she gaped.

“I _know_ … thank the Maker you were there!" He laughed and rolled onto his back.

"Alistair?" asked Icis in a surprisingly small voice.

"Hmm?" he rolled just his head back in her direction.

"Where does all this secrecy leave us?" She looked uncharacteristically small—her limbs retracted in on themselves and she looked up at him through thick blonde lashes.

Alistair wasn't sure. He admired her—a lot—but he missed Bella. He missed her like she was his right limb. Alistair started to formulate a tactful response—he bit the inside of his lip and tried to _will_ the words.

"I still care about you," whispered Icis. She was suddenly sitting in the hollow of his waist on the bed. She gripped both sides of his ribcage and leaned into him, planting kisses along the edge of his jaw and finding his lips.

Alistair tried to stay in the moment, but something kept him from it. He wondered if everyone felt this much regret and turmoil when with a beautiful woman—he _doubted_ it.


	17. Something's wrong...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis and Alistair wake up the next morning. Something sinister has happened overnight. Bella continues leading with a strong hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Cullen/Alistair backstory. *tear*

**Icis**

The next morning, there was a knock at the door. Icis' face was buried in the mattress and her limbs were somehow entangled in layers of bedding. Her cheek was lying against something rough and warm. She blinked ineffectively into tanned skin. All at once, the night before filtered back in.

"Alistair?" she croaked.

"Just another minute," he mumbled nonsensically.

"Alistair?" she shook her arms wildly until she could sit up, free of the ensnaring sheets and blankets.

He growled and turned onto his stomach, pulling a pillow over his head. His back spread wide across the bed and she couldn't help but laugh at such a huge man being such a baby about getting up.

The knocking continued.

“I’m coming!” she called, trying to find at least some _portion_ of her clothing.

She opened the door a crack and peeked out. Dorian was on the other side with an alarmed look on his face. “Can I come in?” he asked urgently.

Icis only opened the door fractionally wider—she wasn't sure what Dorian would say when he saw the scene inside.

"Well?!" he shouted.

“Okay, Dorian,” she opened the door. “You’re starting to scare me, what is it?”

Dorian took two steps into the room before stopping short. "Oh…" he raised his eyebrows disapprovingly. He cleared his throat loudly. "Your Majesty?"

Alistair sat up suddenly. His eyes grew wide and he blushed furiously. "Dorian…" he grumbled, pulling the sheets around his waist as he stood. "What _is_ it?" He walked behind the small partition to the bathtub.

Dorian suppressed a laugh, but his expression was again grave when his eyes landed back on Icis. “It’s Valya—she’s _gone_ …” he said seriously.

“What?!” Icis pulled her robes more tightly closed around her waist. Alistair's head peeked out from behind the divider. He looked flushed and furious.

“No one knows what happened,” continued Dorian. “She was gone when Reimas woke up this morning. Morrigan and Bella are making a plan for finding her downstairs. You two should get dressed.”

Icis looked down at her haphazard appearance. “Okay. I will be right down,” she mumbled.

 

* * *

 

Chaotically dressed, she flew down the stairs after Alistair so quickly she twisted her ankle on the bottom stair and nearly tumbled into Morrigan. Alistair caught her at the last second. She knew she was blushing when her head crashed into his chest. She cursed herself for this lack of professionalism.

“What do we know?” asked Icis, trying to regain her composure. She smoothed her palms over her robes and took a steadying breath.

“Not much,” said Bella with frustration, “We woke up this morning and she was gone. There was no sign of a struggle, _none_ of the staff saw anything suspicious, and no one heard anything.”

Morrigan was conjuring a spell wisp above the group.

“What’s that for?” asked Icis pointing to the wisp.

“She’s going to make a magical reflection of Valya so we can see her leaving the inn,” answered Bella in a whisper.

Icis nodded and took a seat next to Alistair on a long bench at the table across from Bella.

Morrigan finally succeeded and the room filled with wisps of magical energy. One formed into a blue-green version of Valya. They saw her pull her hood over her head and sneak toward the front door. Before she left, she spoke to someone behind her—someone the spell couldn’t conjure. “I’ll do whatever you want…Just promise you won’t go after the others,” she said. The spell collapsed as she walked out the door.

Icis looked at Alistair and realized he had edged away from her on the bench.

Bella was pacing, “This has the wardens written all over it,” she concluded.

Alistair crossed to her and stood in her path, “If it’s the wardens, they will have taken her to Weisshaupt,” he said, looking her in the eye.

“Then that’s where we’ll have to go,” said Bella with determination.

Dorian stood up suddenly, “What about the cure and the old gods and ending the blights and all that?”

“We're not going to leave her behind," said Bella. From her tone, Icis knew there was no argument to be made.

Alistair put his hand on Bella’s shoulder and she gripped it instinctively. “The trip will take us at least a week," she said.

Icis shuddered—a week in the _wrong_ direction.

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

The group left Laysh in a hurry. It was frustrating to be so close to the Feral Fjords and have to journey a week out of the way, but Bella was so focused on finding Valya that she barely noticed the undercurrent of dissent from the group. Alistair had been silently walking next to her since they left the town.

“How _are_ you?” she eventually asked.

He was clearly thinking about something else, because he just stared ahead and didn’t answer.

“Alistair?”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?” she asked with a cautious smile.

He breathed out sharply, “I’ll be better when we find Valya…”

She nodded, but she knew there was more to it.

“I mean, Bella—" he interrupted himself. "She’s _us_ , Bel—she’s the same age we were when we fought the blight and she has close to as much pressure on her now as we did,” he explained. “ _And_ … I told her I’d look out for her and the _one_ night I let my guard down, she is abducted.”

Bella could certainly see the parallels. There was something else, though. Something she could sense—an undercurrent of embarrassment? Regret?

“What _else_ is going on with you?” she asked skeptically.

Alistair looked at her knowingly, “I just stuck my foot in my mouth—that’s all. You know how I am… I get so carried away.”

Bella _did_ know what he meant. He had once told her that as a child he would reveal all his secrets to a friend and then go home to cry, feeling exposed and raw. She pictured Alistair as a child in the Chantry, ducking into an empty room and burying his face in a tear-worn pillow.

“What did you reveal?” she asked.

“ _Everything_ …” he said evasively.

She let his inadequate answer hang in the air. She predicted he would start explaining any second if she stayed silent.

“—last night, with Icis…" he paused, inhaling through his nose, “all these secrets just started pouring out of me. Before I knew what was happening, I was telling her about Kieran and my mother.”

Bella's first instinct was to tell him how dangerous that was. She knew Alistair trusted Icis, but she never considered Alistair's judgment to be particularly sound. While she was still deliberating on how to deal with him, he interrupted her with a non sequitur.

"It reminds me so much of that other time…" mumbled Alistair.

Bella looked up at him. " _What_ other time?"

"Oh…" he looked as if he'd just realized he was speaking aloud. "It's nothing…"

Bella smirked at him, "If it were _nothing_ , you would not have said it…"

Alistair kicked dirt with his boot. "It's stupid…"

Bella waited. She could feel that he _wanted_ to continue. There was something he _needed_ to say.

"When I was growing up… there was this other templar in training…" began Alistair.

Bella nodded.

"He was really good at everything—a _natural_ ," continued Alistair. "I wasn't so natural…" he laughed, "Really, I just didn't like all the _rules_. They seemed punitive and parochial."

Bella agreed with him. The chantry was full of mindless automatons as far as she was concerned.

"Anyway… this other recruit and I were pitted against each other all the time… and even though he consistently beat the stuffing out of me, I got to really like him." Alistair pushed a hand through his hair and blinked a few times into the horizon.

"And?" asked Bella.

"Well, one night I finally decided to tell him how I felt—how much I _admired_ him and that I hoped I'd be as proficient as he was one day…" Alistair exhaled sharply. "And he said he liked me too—that he could see how I was improving all the time… but the next day, when I came into the main hall, everyone was snickering."

Bella squinted up at him.

"I slunk to the back of the room, where an initiate friend of mine was sitting. 'What is going on?' I asked her. Her face was grave—she bit her bottom lip and whispered to me out the corner of her mouth, 'Allie—Cullen says you're _obsessed_ with him, like a _stalker_ or something. He's threatening to ask the sisters to move him to _another wing_ so he can get away from you.' My whole body felt hot and numb. I had never felt so embarrassed— _exposed_."

Bella's eyes narrowed, "Wait, wait— _Cullen_ was the recruit?"

Alistair looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to let that out—I just got caught up telling the story… please don't say anything to anyone…"

Bella shook her head. She would always keep Alistair's secrets—no matter how strained their relationship became.

"Anyway, Bel—after that, I stopped telling people things," he shifted his weight toward her and walked half a foot closer, keeping his voice low. "That's one of the reasons I didn't tell you about the whole birthright thing for such a long time… I was _scared_."

Bella understood—her own upbringing in the circle proved that keeping secrets was _powerful_ and often necessary.

"Why didn't you tell me about Cullen before?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know…" Alistair answered. "I guess I _still_ feel the embarrassed just recounting it. And that wasn't even the last time I let him trick me, believe it or not—there was a kicked-in-the-dirt incident I'd rather not get into…" he mumbled, "Anyway, now that I know from Icis what an all-around _ass_ he is, it doesn't seem to matter as much."

Bella felt sorry for him. She considered how long they had known each other and how well she knew his mind. It wasn’t _only_ because of their tainted connection—she had seen him in every possible condition: stressed, elated, apprehensive, bashful, terrified, and brave. She knew his heart—and it was _good_.

 

* * *

 

Through the next valley, they walked in silence. Alistair eventually fell back and Bella walked alone. The hot air was sticky and flying sand stung Bella’s eyes. They were passing through the flats of the Anderfels now, which were unbelievably hot and dry. The red clay stretched out for miles in any direction and the sun beat down during the day. Each night the temperature dropped considerably and suddenly, leaving them shivering as their sweat turned icy. In two days time they would pass Hossberg and Bella hoped that whatever remained of that town would be welcoming to them.

“Bella?” called a voice from over her shoulder.

Bella looked up to see Reimas.

“Do you need something?” asked Bella.

“I just wanted to apologize…” said Reimas sheepishly. “I should have been looking out for Valya… I still can’t understand how someone snuck into our room without waking me up…”

Bella smiled at her. There was something familiar about Reimas’ expression that Bella couldn’t quite place.

“We'll find her,” said Bella seriously.

Reimas looked at her painfully.

In an uncharacteristic move, Bella grabbed the other woman’s hand and squeezed it in her palm. Reimas looked at their hands and then back up to Bella’s face. Something like horror flickered behind her irises. Bella couldn't understand why.

Morrigan materialized in their path. Bella dropped Reimas’ hand.


	18. Splitting Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis has a potentially advantageous plan, but things go horribly wrong. Alistair is in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken a few liberties with elven lore... I have an idea that Clan Lavellan was a bit ruthless.

**Icis**

_In any group, there are leaders and there are followers_.

Currently, Icis was at the _back_ of the group. She sighed—thwarted, frustrated, exhausted and hot.

Whenever time permitted, Icis was prone to self-reflection. Today, she was considering the Inquisition and Thedas as a whole. It occurred to her that without her accidental acquisition of the orb, she would not be who she was today—a _coincidence_ had changed her life forever. 

Although she was in line to become Keeper of her clan, she was not the _only_ one. To claim that right, she would have had to best her peers—some of whom were incredibly skilled and ambitious. Even at the time, she had always doubted her ability to be ruthless enough. Although outsiders looked at clans of elves as tight knit communities, this was not actually _true_. Most clans had as much infighting as conflict with the outside world. Nevertheless, it _could_ have been a good existence, she supposed. If she didn’t become the Keeper, she would have joined with the person who did—the second choice an ever-present reminder to the Keeper of how narrowly he/she won and how _easily_ things could change. It was rather harsh, now that she thought about it.

Despite its short comings, there was a certain appeal to having a map for life. In Clan Lavellan she could see her whole life stretching out before her. Instead, she was in a desert breathing in hot clay and combating dust storms, trying to save a tiny elven girl who might not even still be alive. Icis needed to get back in control. She led armies! How had she let herself fall to the back of a group of eight? Willing her legs to carry her faster, she passed the group and fell into step next to Bella.

“How much farther?” she asked in a voice that was designed to sound commanding.

Bella looked at her as if she hadn’t noticed her approach, “About two days from Hossberg. Then it’s another two or three to Weisshaupt—getting up there is going to be a challenge, its elevation is extremely high.”

Icis wrinkled her nose, “Do you think there is an _advantage_ in stopping in Hossberg?”

“Not particularly,” said Bella, “but we'll need to restock our supplies—water at the very least.”

An idea occurred to Icis. “What if only _some_ of us went to Hossberg?”

Bella looked at her sideways, “for what purpose?”

“If half of us stop and ask around—publically—for information on Valya while the other half go directly to Weisshaupt, it may throw Valya’s kidnappers off our trail and give us an advantage,” explained Icis.

Icis caught a flash of a smile on Bella’s face and _knew_ she'd impressed her.

“Okay, Icis,” said Bella with a nod, “let’s do it.”

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

When he finally finished erecting is tent, Alistair was ready to sleep. He couldn’t, though, because Bella had called some type of meeting. She had a strategy for the upcoming days. He knew it would be _good_ , too—her plans were always masterful. He pulled a sweater on over his head and took a seat next to Dorian and Caronel at the fire. They were inseparable these days and he felt jealous. He knew he shouldn’t—he _could_ be inseparable with _someone_ if he could get a hold of himself. That seemed just out of reach, though. Dorian and Caronel held hands and whispered to each other. Alistair wasn’t even sure they knew he was here. Morrigan came to sit on his opposite side while Reimas stood behind them.

“In two days, we will reach Hossberg,” began Bella.

Icis was standing next to her, which Alistair thought was odd.

“…but only _some_ of us will be going there,” said Bella with a sly smile.

Icis stepped forward, “In order to get the upper hand on Valya’s captors, we are going to split into two groups. One group will enter the city and make a public display of looking for Valya.”

“—the other group,” added Bella, “will come with me to Weisshaupt _without_ stopping and reach it two days earlier with the added element of surprise,” she paused, “Icis is the mastermind of this plan, so she will be leading the trip to Hossberg and choosing the groups.”

“Alistair," Bella called, "Do you think the Hossberg group will need a Grey Warden or could all three of us go directly to Weisshaupt?”

“I think two of us should go to Weisshaupt, but leaving the Hossberg group without a Grey Warden could be dangerous,” he answered.

“Okay,” said Icis, “we’ll just split right down the middle, then.” She made a knife with her hand that landed right between Dorian and Caronel. Dorian squeezed Caronel’s hand and looked worried.

Alistair, not wanting to separate a couple who _wasn’t_ mired in dysfunction, stood up. “I’ll switch to the Hossberg side so Caronel can go to Weisshaupt.”

Dorian looked up at him thankfully.

"He used to live there anyway," muttered Alistair. "I've never been…"

While Bella explained the intricacies of the operations, Alistair tried to catch Icis' eye. He wanted to be absolved of his crimes—to have her look at him and _smile_ instead of skeptically squint.

           

* * *

 

Alistair wished he was in the other group. His momentary altruism had resulted in an awkward trip. Icis was completely focused on the mission. Reimas and Alistair didn’t have much to talk about except templar stories, which was uncomfortable because Alistair didn’t actually _like_ the templars as a group. Morrigan spent half the time as a wolf or a crow or a bear. When she _did_ finally choose to walk as a human, she had so many things to tell Icis about the road up ahead or bandits she saw or whatever, that she didn’t really speak to Alistair. When the wrecked remains of the Hossberg Circle Tower came into view in the distance, he felt apprehensive. He knew they had to go straight to a tavern and start talking— _loudly_. At least there would be ale.

Inside the gates, Alistair surveyed the town. On both sides of the cobblestone street, rows of houses rose three stories high. The setting sun glowed yellow in the reflections of each window and the sounds of laughter spilled out into the road.

“Straight ahead,” called Icis to the group.

She pointed to an inn that reminded Alistair of the Gnawed Noble Tavern in Denerim. It occurred to him that he hadn't been in Denerim in almost a year. He wondered if his subjects thought he was dead or just _terrible_ at being a king.

The owner of the inn was a swarthy man in his forties. His beard was wiry and graying in patches. When he spoke, a few chipped, yellow teeth appeared through the strands of his mustache. Alistair bargained and was shown to one large room with two sets of bunk beds—not _ideal_ , but their goal was to spend time downstairs anyway.

Alistair selected the bottom bunk on the far side of the room and threw his pack down on it to claim it. In similar fashion, Reimas chose the top of the fireside bunkbeds and Morrigan claimed the bed above his. Icis entered last and threw her things onto the bottom bunk across from Alistair. They looked at each other for a second—one of the first glances since their night together in Laysh.

"Let's go," said Icis to the group.

"I'll be down in just a little while. I need to send a letter to Anora," he paused as the whole group looked skeptical, "… I just want to tell her I'm not dead so she doesn't excitedly plan my funeral."

Morrigan laughed and Reimas followed her out.

Icis lingered for a moment. "Alistair…"

He looked up to meet her gaze, but she didn't keep talking.

"Never mind… I'll see you down there…"

Alistair watched her leave. It sent jolts of electricity through his chest. He wondered what those were—certainly nothing _good_.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

They sat in the tavern talking about Valya for hours. Morrigan was currently drinking the rest of them under the table. At least 40 people would have heard them and Icis was starting to feel dizzy. Reimas had already excused herself back to the room and Alistair was laughing like a school child. It felt good to relax for once. Unfortunately, experience had taught her that times like these rarely lasted and were _usually_ followed by disaster. She made a face and Morrigan caught it.

"Do you never just _enjoy_ yourself, Inquisitor?" asked Morrigan, taking another drink. She was smiling dangerously.

"I do," argued Icis, picking up her flagon and toasting Morrigan. The gesture felt forced, though.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, "The two of you are _clearly_ lost to me—you're thinking about tomorrow" she poked Icis' sternum a bit too hard, "…and Alistair, _not surprisingly_ , isn't thinking at all." Without another word, she picked up her drink and approached a rowdy group at the bar.

Alistair and Icis were left awkwardly sitting next to each other at the table. She wondered what she should say, but couldn't think of anything useful and eventually gave in to the hush.

"I'm sorry about everything, you know," said Alistair, shattering the silence.

She looked up at him through her hair, which fell like a curtain at the side of her face. "What do you mean?" asked Icis.

"This whole thing!" said Alistair drunkenly, "I mean, we never should have done any of this, right?"

"What do you mean, Alistair?"

"We never should have worked together in Denerim—and we _definitely_ shouldn't have moved back to Skyhold!" he said with a tragic look on his face.

She felt a little pain in her chest. "You wish we hadn't done _any_ of it?" Her voice was strained and high.

Alistair turned his body toward her and pushed her hair away to cup her cheek, "If we hadn't, then you might still think I was a good person—a good king?" Alistair hiccupped drunkenly. His words were barely intelligible.

"I _do_ think you're good, Alistair…" she let her cheek fall into his palm and blinked slowly. His calluses scraped her skin in a pleasant way—it felt _real_.

He laughed bitterly, "You wouldn’t if you _knew_ me…" His thumb drew circles near the edge of her mouth.

"I _do_ know you, Alistair," the words came out definite—she was sure. "And…" she mustered every ounce of bravery she had. “I _love_ you,” she whispered.

His eyes widened. Time stretched as they stared into each other's irises—pupils darting from eye to eye.

Suddenly, an explosion roared outside the tavern window, blowing bits of debris and glass everywhere. Icis was hurled onto the floor and couldn't see Alistair anywhere.  She blinked, dazed, and soon saw Morrigan charging toward the door. Pulling herself up, she chased after her, squinting into the smoke. Icis soon realized she couldn't hear properly. There was a stinging high-pitched hum overshadowing everything. Staggering, she grasped Morrigan's arm and they looked at each other without speaking.

Outside, the town was engulfed in flames. A small house on the opposite side of the square looked to be the explosion's epicenter.

"Come on, we need to see what happened," said Morrigan. Icis could tell she was screaming, but the sound was so muffled they could have been underwater.

Morrigan and Icis ran across the square and approached the house. With skill that Icis had rarely seen, Morrigan dropped gallons of water directly from the sky onto the burning house and immediately doused the flames. Icis followed her to what _used_ to be the door. When they got inside, they found charred books and manuscripts everywhere. A few feet in, Icis saw the remains of a bomb, still radiating lyrium dust.

Ahead of her, Morrigan gasped. Icis looked around her shoulder and saw a woman's body in a familiar suit of arms. It was Reimas. Icis picked up her head and rested it against her lap. Reimas' eyes stared up unblinkingly. Icis pushed the hair from her brow and gently closed her eyes. No matter how much death she witnessed, each time shocked and saddened her as much as the time before.

"There is no time to mourn," said Morrigan suddenly. She was staring at a note that was eerily unburned.

"What is that?" asked Icis with rising fear.

"It's correspondence between Reimas and someone in Weisshaupt," said Morrigan coldly. " _She was a spy_."

Icis recoiled, dropping Reimas' head on the blackened floor. They had traveled together for _weeks_. This whole time Reimas was giving away their plans? She had learned their every movement, shared their food, slept in their tents… Icis' throat felt tight.

"We have been compromised from the start." Icis was reeling.

Morrigan nodded, putting the letter into her pocket "we need to get out of here as _fast_ as possible. Go back to the inn and find Alistair. I'm going to secure some horses. We have to get to Bella and warn her before she walks into a trap."

 

Icis ran back to the burning inn as fast as she could. When she finally made it she was choking on smoke and there was ash in her hair. Inside, she looked around the smoky room desperately and eventually saw a sooty, red-haired man unconscious under the weight of a long rectangular table. She rushed to his side and magically flung the table off of him. She leaned over his chest to look into his face. He didn’t seem to be breathing. Icis screamed for Morrigan, but couldn't even hear her own voice over the roar of the fire blazing on all sides. She knew she had to get him out of here, but she couldn't lift him and she wasn’t sure if that was the right move, anyway. She needed a _healer_ —now.

The second floor collapsed, sending debris hurtling everywhere and partially blocking the front door. Her heart was beating so fast she wasn't sure it would stay in her chest. She tried to remember any _hint_ of a healing spell Dorian had taught her.

"Why didn't I listen?!" she screamed at herself.

Wrapping her hands around Alistair's chest, she shook him gently, but soon realized he was too far gone to simply wake up. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow and running painfully into her eyes. She cupped his face with her palms and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She was out of options—he was going to _die_ right in front of her.

" _I_ can save him," said a tiny voice.

She whirled, expecting to see someone standing just over her left shoulder. Icis shuddered—she knew that spirits came to mages when they were in distress.

"Let me save him," it said again.

Icis tried to clear her mind, but the voice was getting stronger.

"He's going to _die_." The voice was deeper now. "Are you _really_ going to let him die? You _love_ him."

Icis was losing her resolve.

"Come on, that's it," said the demon, "let me do this for you."

Icis shook her head wildly, as if she could free the voice from her mind.

"Just one little spell, that's all it will take," said the voice sweetly, "let me _teach_ you."

Icis stopped moving and considered. She had always been afraid of blood magic, but she _now_ knew Bella—the most famous mage in recent history. Why would Bella be able to do something _she_ couldn't do? Even as she considered, she could see the life draining out of Alistair’s face. She _couldn't_ accept the idea of letting him die—in a rush of adrenaline and sorrow and _exquisite_ agony, she realized she'd loved him all along.

"Teach me," she said with resolve.

In a miasma of pain and nausea she saw the room around her with new eyes. Each point of egress was illuminated and the structure seemed fluid. Focusing on Alistair's face, she heard herself speak a spell she had never learned. The words were ancient—a language that formed unfamiliarly in her mouth. A tendril of red-orange blood sprang from her hand and connected to Alistair's chest. His eyes opened suddenly and he gasped for air.

A moment later, Alistair was coughing. She shook violently and spit blood before her vision cleared. She was thankful that the smoke was so thick—Alistair wouldn't see what she had done. Wiping the blood from her lips, she grasped him around the back and guided him out of the inn.

Outside, Morrigan was waiting with three horses. Without another word, they mounted and rode off into the night.


	19. Weisshaupt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group is reunited, but matters couldn't be more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory about Weisshaupt, some liberties with how Warden culture works, and lots of references to The Last Flight. :)

**Bella**

Weisshaupt was in sight. Its tallest spire had a veilfire torch that burned blue-green all night. Bella had seen the first glimpse of it at dusk and decided that they should continue through the night to take the fortress by surprise. At this elevation, their march was slow—they trod through a foot of snow on the path and drifts that were almost as tall as Bella.

"What is the plan once we make it inside?" asked Dorian cautiously.

"Our first obstacle will be finding where Valya is being held," answered Bella.

"I have a trick for that," said Caronel behind them. He pulled out a red orb from his satchel. When he lifted it, it started to spin and glow.

"What is that?" asked Dorian.

"It's a sort of homing device," he answered, "I invented it for Valya once we found the eggs. I predicted something like this would happen—I wish I wasn't right." Caronel looked at the ground despondently. "She has a matching orb. It will lead us to her once we are inside the walls of Weisshaupt."

"Which brings us to another problem and solution," smiled Bella. "I had this suit of arms specifically made. Wade imbued each piece with veilfire." She took the pieces out of her bag and held them up for the others to see their glint. "If Caronel and I each wear one piece, we will be able to pass without setting off any magical alarms."

"Don't I get one?" asked Dorian, smiling suspiciously.

"We don't have fixes for _everything_ —" said Caronel sourly. "There is _one_ problem that we can't get around: if anyone who isn't tainted enters Weisshaupt, a magical ward infects them with a poison that slowly kills them. When new recruits come, one of the higher-ups does a spell that makes them immune—but I don't know it."

Dorian swallowed hard and gripped Caronel's arm.

"Which is why _you_ ," Bella pointed at Dorian, "are not going in."

Dorian looked deflated. "You brought me all this way to sit around and _wait_ for you?"

"For now, we need you to stay at the edge of the forest and keep watch for us," said Caronel. He looked miserable, but he was calming Dorian considerable. Bella could feel how much worrying about Dorian hurt him.

"This is not up for debate," said Bella tersely. "Caronel and I have lived here periodically. We know the layout inside and we can pass through all the wards without risk of injury. When we reach the top of the hill, we'll choose a place for you to wait," said Bella with a stern face.

The rest of the climb commenced in silence. When they finally reached the tree line, Dorian begrudgingly set up a lookout station and wished Caronel and Bella good luck. Caronel kissed Dorian desperately. Bella wanted to reassure both of them, but she knew it would be a lie. She had no idea what they would face on the inside of the walls. The last time she was here, times were different. 

 

Even in the darkness, the silhouette of Weisshaupt was imposing. The entire fortress was made of blocks of stone six feet long and three feet high. At their joints, windows glinted in the moonlight higher than Bella could see without craning her neck. Each turret flew the griffon flag that all Grey Wardens knew as a sign of historical power and duty. Bella silently recited the Grey Warden oath automatically: _In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._

Caronel and Bella pulled up their hoods and snuck as quickly as possible to a sewer entrance on the south side of the main gates. The holes in the grates were small enough that an average human couldn't slip through them, but she and Caronel were lithe enough to squeeze through with a little magical help. On the inside of the grate, the smell of rotting flesh and feces hit them like a wave. Choking, Bella waved Caronel on and they ran up the tunnel. Just when it seemed like they were going to pass out from the fumes, Caronel's orb began to glow and spin. Its magic illuminated the outline of a tiny door above them. Pulling herself through the hatch, Bella surveyed the next level. This trap door went directly into the kitchens. Luckily, these were deserted at this time of night. A rat squealed at the sight of the elves coming up through the floor, but the room was otherwise silent. Caronel dusted off his coat and lowered his hood.

"Where now?" asked Bella in a whisper.

Caronel held up the orb and watched it spin. This time, its red light led them through an oversized wooden door. As they passed through it, her skin tingled. This was the first of the veilfire wards. Caronel shivered and smoothed his hair. No matter how many times they walked through these, it never got any easier. When Bella lived here a year ago she avoided any door that she knew had a ward because she disliked the prickly sensation on her skin. Following the orb, they went down endless hallways and eventually ended up in the library wing.

"Why would they be keeping her in the library?" asked Caronel skeptically.

Bella didn't let her face show it, but she was worried. "I don't know…" she breathed.

The orb was spinning out of control now, pointing them into the main room where Garahel's armor was on display. Bella had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but rounded the corner with resolve.

"Stop right there!" yelled an unknown voice.

Around the corner there were at least thirty wardens, all dressed and ready for battle. Bella tried to back up but heard at least twice that many coming up the hallways from all directions. In the center of the group, a hooded warden held Valya's orb. They were surrounded.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

They had been riding all night. Their horses were tired and so were they, but their mission was too important to rest. The wind whipped through Icis' hair and her hood kept getting blown back. The higher they climbed into the mountains, the harder the ride was and the colder her ears became, but she could barely feel it. Her mind was racing. She imagined Bella walking directly into a trap in Weisshaupt. She wondered what secrets Reimas had revealed before her death. But most of all, she wondered what her _deal_ would cost her. In her mind, she kept replaying Bella's warning: successful blood mages do not make deals with demons.

When the incline became steep enough, the horses could go no further. Morrigan enchanted them to ride back to the town on their own and the group continued on foot. They trudged up the hill for at least four hours before they reached the tree line. The sun was nearly rising when they approached the fortress' walls. Just as Icis was about to cross the snow to the gates, a bolt of electricity grazed her ear. She turned and saw a small fire signal on the southern edge of the forest. Warily, she ran with the others to meet the spell's origin.

Dorian looked terrified.

"What are you doing here?" asked Dorian.

Morrigan stepped forward with the letter, "Reimas was a spy. We suspect she relayed our entire plan to her superiors in Weisshaupt."

Dorian's face turned grey, "Bella and Caronel have been in there _far_ too long. They were supposed to check in after two hours—it's been at least six."

"Why haven't you gone in after them?" asked Icis in disbelief.

Alistair spoke for the first time since his brush with death earlier, "Because he _can't_ go inside. Anyone who tries to pass Weisshaupt's wards who isn't a Grey Warden will be weakened and eventually die."

Icis took a deep breath and tried to think. Obviously, only Alistair could get them out, but if they had been captured, then what was to stop their captors from also taking Alistair? Based on his expression, Alistair was coming to the same conclusion.

"I need to go in after them," he said finally.

"Bella and Caronel got in through the sewers south of the main gate," said Dorian. "Andraste's ass, Alistair—be _careful_."

Icis almost reached out for him, but stopped just short. The muscles in her forearm twitched with indecision.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Even though he had never been to Weisshaupt, he knew its layout. Every Grey Warden, however green, knew all about Weisshaupt. It was a place of legend and only the most successful wardens ever got the chance to see it up close. Despite the current situation, he felt its magnitude. At the gate to the sewers, he found that it was impossible to fit. He would need to find another way around. Looking up, he noticed an open window about twenty feet above him. He knew he would regret this, but it seemed like the only way in that didn't require knocking on the front door.

Shifting his pack onto his back, he jumped up to the first stone above his head. Clinging to it, he pulled his legs up and began to climb. _Don't look down_ , he thought. Just as he was nearing the window, his foot slipped on a loose stone and he almost lost his grip. Steadying himself, he swore silently and gripped the windowsill. Slowly, he raised his head above the window and peered in. These were the First Warden's chambers—currently empty. Hopping into the room, he quietly took inventory of the desk contents and rummaged through the dresser—nothing of note.

He had to find Bella. Clearing his mind, he tried to sense her in the fortress. Normally, this would have been easy, but he found that his senses were dampened. It must be something about the building itself. Everything felt _off_. He would have to find her a different way. Creeping down a spiral staircase, he stopped dead. Walking toward him in the dawn light was a tiny elf in a green hood. When he saw her, his knees felt weak.

"Fiona?" he asked feebly.

"Shhh!" she cautioned. Looking both ways, she pushed him into a side room and bolted the door. "What's going on?"

He thought about how to answer this; it was _complicated_ , "Bella came in to rescue Valya, who was kidnapped, and now I'm here to rescue Bella and Caronel who may have _also_ been kidnapped?" It was an over-simplification, but it would have to do.

She looked up at him discerningly, "The First Warden has gone _mad_."

"I gathered as much when we met Valya," he said, "what about the other wardens? Why don't they stop him?"

"They aren't in a position to. He's a powerful mage…" she trailed off.

Alistair imagined that _as_ a mage it was tiring to constantly make excuses for other mages. He wrung his hands and let his vision fall to a seam in the floor near their feet.

"Bella, Caronel, and Valya are being held in the dungeons two levels down," she said, refocusing, "we need to get to them."

Fiona headed for the door, but Alistair touched her arm, "wait," he said gently.

Fiona looked confused.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Morrigan and I are in contact each day," she explained. "I think she always knew we would end up here."

Alistair wasn't surprised. Morrigan was always two steps ahead of the others. Only _this_ time, it turned out to be helpful, not _infuriating_.

Fiona turned to leave again and Alistair followed. Two floors down, Fiona magically melted the lock to the dungeon and the door swung open with a loud creek. In the far corner, Bella, Valya, and Caronel were shivering on a dirt floor. They had been stripped down to only their smallclothes. Alistair ran over and Bella gripped his hands through the bars.

"Thank the maker you're here," said Caronel trying to smile.

"You can thank Fiona for that," said Alistair pointing to _his mother_. The title hitched in his mind. He wanted to tell her that he knew so badly his chest hurt.

Bella looked at Fiona and smiled, "Morrigan, right?" Fiona nodded.

"At least you're all together," said Alistair still holding Bella's hands.

"I have been here for a few days," said Valya. "Even though I didn't want anyone else to be captured, it _was_ a relief to see them."

Alistair smiled at her and began to work on hacking the lock apart while Fiona melted its edges. This would have been a fantastic time to have a rogue with them. When the lock finally gave way, the three of them stepped out of the cell and started to put their equipment back on, which Fiona had managed to salvage from somewhere in the fortress.

“So what is the plan?” asked Valya once they were free.

Bella and Alistair looked at each other instinctively. He thought about their history—in a crisis they were closest. It was in _stillness_ that they faltered.

“We need to get out of here,” said Caronel. “The First Warden is _incredibly_ powerful."

“What does he want?” asked Alistair.

Everyone looked at him nervously. Finally, Bella said, “He wants to start a Blight.”

Alistair blinked, “what?!”

Valya explained, “He is crazed with politics. He thinks that if there is another Blight the Grey Wardens will be seen as essential and he will be able to overthrow the Inquisition, the Chantry, and the individual governments of Thedas.”

Caronel was ready to move. “We cannot stay here and feel sorry for ourselves today.”

Fiona was right behind him crafting an invisible barrier meant to muffle their footsteps through the fortress.

“Where are we going?” asked Alistair quizzically. “We need to _find_ the First Warden and kill him.”

Fiona stopped fade weaving, “Alistair, you don’t understand how powerful he is. He is controlling _all_ the wardens in this fortress. He can do the same to anyone who has _ever_ been exposed to the taint. We need to come back here with an army. _Today_ , we just need to escape as quickly as we can.”

Alistair wanted to argue, but he couldn’t think of the right thing to say.

Bella picked up her gear and stepped to the front of the group, “Fiona’s barrier will be large enough to cover all of us, but only if we stay close together.”

Bella continued with more safety notes and magical instructions that Alistair didn’t hear. His head felt fuzzy. There was so much to process. He had always been _proud_ of being a Grey Warden. Now, so many things had gone wrong within the order that he wasn’t sure he still was. He knew they were _essential_. If not for them, the Fifth Blight would have raged on for years. Actually, there wouldn’t have been a Fifth Blight, because the _First_ Blight would have wiped Thedas off the map! But their actions now were confusing, and despite their oath to stay neutral, their leader was grabbing for power like any lesser noble. It was _deplorable_.

At the end of a hallway, they found another metal grate. They climbed into the tunnel and after turning a few corners, saw daylight—they were _almost_ out. Alistair waited at the end as Fiona melted a few more bars. He was getting anxious now—they were _so_ close and he wanted to see if everyone else was all right at the edge of the forest. He also had some burgeoning questions about the explosion in Hossberg. Frankly, he couldn’t understand _how_ he survived. He was _sure_ he was dying in that fiery inn.

The group spilled out into the sun and snow. Alistair surveyed the area and started to lead the group to where the others were hiding. There was a wide flat area they needed to cross before they reached the tree line. Alistair looked both ways and then signaled the group to run as fast as possible across it. No sooner had they started running than a familiar wall of hot air pushed at their backs. It was followed by a roar that made Alistair’s hair stand on end—the dragon had found them at last.

In one movement, Alistair turned on his heel, raised his shield, and screamed out a bolstering battle cry. Looking up at the blue dragon, he noticed it still had scars from their last encounter. It was vulnerable, but it also knew their battle tactics. Bella and Caronel fanned out and started hurtling spells at the dragon’s neck but Fiona screamed out for them to disengage.

“Fall back!” she cried.

Alistair screamed over the howling wind from the dragon’s wings, “why?! Are you _insane_?!” He realized that he was yelling at _his mother_ and cursed under his breath.

“It’s First Warden Avery!” roared Fiona.

Bella and Alistair looked at each other with understanding. The reason she couldn’t use mind control on it last time was that it wasn’t an “it” at all—the dragon _was_ the shapeshifted First Warden.

Valya and Fiona drew back first with Caronel and Bella right behind. Alistair stayed in place the longest, but eventually ran for the tree line— _away_ from where the others were hiding. The last thing he wanted was to alert the crazed dragon-warden to their location.

When they were in the forest, the dragon circled impotently above their heads and scorched the evergreen canopy in fury. They climbed under a rock formation into a small cave and waited what seemed like hours until the outside sounded still. They would need to be _sure_ before they could safely meet the others.

           

* * *

 

Sitting underground, they waited. Alistair’s back hurt against the cold stone walls and his boots were soaked through to his feet. When he was sure it was safe to speak, he finally asked, “So the first time this ‘dragon’ attacked us, he was trying to kill us off before we ever reached our target?”

Fiona nodded, “he soon discovered you were not so easy to kill.”

Alistair continued, “…and then when he couldn’t, he used Reimas as a spy and came after Valya to draw us all here.”

“Correct, he must have sent Reimas along as insurance from the start,” said Fiona, “He didn’t count on Morrigan being with you, though.  If it weren’t for her, you would likely all be dead already.”

Alistair hated being indebted to Morrigan—as if their history wasn’t complex enough—but he was incredibly thankful right now.

"There is one thing that vexes me, though," said Fiona darkly.

Alistair cocked his head to the side, listening.

"I never expected this from Reimas—especially since she and Bella were so close _before_ …" she trailed off.

Alistair squinted. He didn't even think Reimas and Bella _knew_ each other. There were so many unanswered questions—his head was swimming. He stood and peered out the entrance to the cave as Fiona rejoined the others.

Bella came up behind him as he looked out. She was surprisingly calm and sensing it made him feel braver.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said, not looking at her.

She gripped his hand and stood next to him, “I’m glad _you’re_ okay. How did you know to come here?”

“There was an explosion,” he explained. “I almost _died_ , I think.” His voice caught in his throat. He hadn’t had a moment to examine his feelings.

Her eyes narrowed, “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” he looked up, trying to remember, “Icis and Morrigan pulled me out of the burning inn, I guess? They found out Reimas was a _spy_ , but we aren’t sure who killed her.”

Bella nodded, not letting go of his hand.

“And then we rode straight through the night to get to you, but you had already been captured,” he finished.

Bella looked up at him with intention, “We’ll always find each other, it seems.”

He let her words hang in the air, still looking directly into her eyes, “Let’s go find the others.”

She nodded and they set out.


	20. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Icis talk about the mess in Hossberg. Icis makes an uncharacteristic decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of Book One. Book Two will follow in Chapter 21, where we'll finally get to see what Bella was doing during that whole time she was "missing," as well as check in with Cullen. 
> 
> All the threads are going to come together. :)

**Icis**

It had been a trying day. After riding all night and climbing through foot-deep snow her eyes were threatening to close.

"Do you see anything?" she asked Dorian for the millionth time.

He shook his head. His face was sunken and hollow—worry etched into its every line.

Icis looked up at him gently, "They're going to be okay, you know…" she paused, " _He_ is…"

Dorian laughed weakly, "We just met—it's ridiculous, really… but something has happened—organically, chemically, _metaphysically_ —" he laughed again, "it's absurd, but I feel as if I'm not going to _make it_ if Caronel doesn't."

Icis smiled. "He's going to be fine. Alistair will bring him back…"

"Your faith in that man is unflappable," mused Dorian. He let his head fall back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes. "I've rarely seen you so _invested_."

She smiled, but immediately felt a chill run up her spine. She _was_ invested. She had been willing to do _anything_ to keep him alive. Every time she closed her eyes she heard the voice, ' _I can teach you_.' She shivered.

Dorian picked his head up and peered at her from under a slitted lid. " _What_?"

"Nothing," she lied, "I'm freezing…"

 

Just when she thought she was going to lose the battle with sleep, Morrigan called out to them from the tree line "I see them!"

Icis ran to Morrigan's flank. " _All_ of them?" she whispered.

"Yes," answered Morrigan quietly, "Fiona is with them as well…"

Icis squinted. "What is Fiona doing in Weisshaupt?"

Morrigan's expression was coy and unreadable. Icis rolled her eyes.

Caronel broke into a run when he saw Dorian.

"We are _so_ glad to see you," said Icis, gripping Bella's forearm. "What happened?"

Bella took a deep breath and began to explain. Icis was dumbfounded. During the inquisition, there _had_ been trouble with the Grey Wardens, but she never thought that it would escalate to the point where they made a play for political power. After all, neutrality was a tenet of the order. When Bella finished explaining, the question was obvious, but no one said it: _What do we do now?_

Finally Alistair stepped in, "We have two options: continue our journey to the Feral Fjords and try to end this on our own terms, or gather an army and attack Weisshaupt."

Everyone looked at each other solemnly.

"We will consider this overnight. Let's find a place to camp out of harm's way," said Bella finally.

 

* * *

 

The group spent the next several hours descending the hills until they reached a tiny town square, not large enough to have a mark on a map. The local inn was nearly deserted, but the light was warm and the owners were friendly. They showed the group to one large room with eight small cots.

Lamplight flickered through the room as they debated that night. There were essentially two schools of thought. Icis was championing the "go-back-to-skyhold-and-gather-an-army," group, while Valya was leading the "we've-come-this-far, let's-finish-this-in-the-Feral-Fjords," group. The discussion soon turned into a heated argument. Eventually, it was clear that there was not going to be a resolution tonight.

"We need to table this until morning," said Icis when everyone started yelling.

Alistair exhaled sharply, "I'm _not_ going to feel differently about this tomorrow!"

She shot him a stern look, "We have _all_ been up for more than a day," she said softening, "We aren't rational anymore."

Morrigan nodded and turned over on her cot. The others soon followed suit. Bella blew out the candles and lamps and the group drifted off to sleep—all except Icis. Late into the night, Icis stared at the ceiling and tried _not_ to shut her eyes. When she finally did succumb to sleep she was tormented by nightmares of Alistair dying in explosions followed by her becoming an abomination.

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

In the morning, Bella was the first to rise. Getting up with the sun had become a habit of hers in the days of the Fifth Blight. Darkspawn were least active at dawn and she used the time to plan strategies and practice her spellcraft. Today, she was walking through the town as anonymously as possible. She left her staff at the inn and was imitating a peasant. With a threadbare hood pulled up over her head any human would assume she was a servant and an elf would assume she was another unfortunate castoff from the Hossberg explosion. Strolling through the square, she didn't notice Icis' approach until she was in step next to her.

"Good morning," she said.

Icis smiled tentatively, "Good morning… I hoped you'd be up."

Bella wasn't sure what that meant. "Oh?"

"I need to talk to you about something…" said Icis quietly. "Can we find a seat somewhere private?"

Bella furrowed her brow, "Of course." She led Icis to a bench under a group of trees.

Icis looked down at the ground and fiddled with her coat.

Bella waited. _Waiting_ was among the most brilliant of tactics. It had always been Bella’s opinion that people would say all kinds of things—reveal all manner of secrets—if they were given adequate time.

Finally, Icis spoke, “I need to talk to you about the explosion in Hossberg.”

Bella nodded, “Oh… Alistair told me he was knocked out and eventually you pulled him out of a burning building.”

Icis cleared her throat and looked at Bella intently, “He was dying—he might have been _dead_. I don’t know for sure.”

Bella felt cold despite the warm breeze. “What do you mean?”

Icis started rationalizing now, the words spilling out of her, “He had been crushed by a huge table and he breathed in too much smoke." She ran a palm over her forehead as she spoke. It shook slightly. "Morrigan sent me back to get him, but when I got inside he needed a _healer_ , not a simple rescue. I looked for her everywhere, but I couldn’t see her and it was _so_ loud and smoky...”

Bella knew these types of rationalizations. Mages came up with all types of excuses for making deals with spirits and demons in the fade. She _knew_ the ending of this story and it wasn’t good.

“So I knelt down next to him,” continued Icis, “and I tried to remember any _shred_ of a healing spell but I failed… and that’s when I heard it…”

Fire flickered behind Icis’ eyes and Bella shuddered.

“So you made a _deal_?” asked Bella. She didn't need to hear the details.

The muscles of Icis' jaw flexed, “It wasn’t a _deal_ exactly. It didn’t _ask_ for anything.”

Bella’s eyes widened involuntarily—that was probably worse.

“And I couldn’t just let him _die_ ,” said Icis miserably.

Bella tried to stay calm, “There are two types of blood magic: those that require blood—hence the name—and those that require deals with demons. The latter are dangerous because sometimes the terms of the deal are unclear. Although we don’t know what the terms of your arrangement are yet, we will likely find out…” she trailed off.

Icis swallowed hard, “what types of things could happen to me?”

“I don’t know exactly, but the price of blood magic during the Fourth Blight was the extinction of the griffons,” said Bella. “I have no idea what the price of _this_ could be.”

They were silent for a long time.

“You can _never_ tell Alistair,” Bella finally said.

Icis looked shocked, “why?!”

“ _Whatever_ you do…” repeated Bella, “… _don’t_ tell him.”

Icis grew pale and her eyes appeared to dull, “Wh— What if _he_ is the one who has to pay to settle the bargain…?”

“I know,” said Bella. This whole situation was made more awkward by the part Icis _wasn’t_ saying: the reason she did this ridiculous thing was, clearly, that she _loved_ Alistair. A mage as strong as Icis didn’t made deals with demons without extenuating circumstances.

“We need to observe him first for any signs,” equivocated Bella.

Icis looked almost angry, “ _Observe_ him?”

“Telling him _now_ will only make him nervous,” said Bella practically, “We _both_ need him to be functional—whether we go to the Feral Fjords or back to Skyhold. You’ll have to be nonchalant—act like nothing happened.”

“I don’t know if I can keep this from him…” said Icis. Her tone was judgmental.

Bella’s anger flared, “Because you _love_ him and you _couldn’t possibly_ lie to him?” Her tone was mocking and sarcastic. “ _Grow up_.”

Icis looked taken aback. “Bella, I know this must be hard on you. Alistair and I are in a strange place right now—we are trying to figure out what we are becoming…”

Bella hated the way Icis was saying ‘ _we_ ’ but she managed to steady her voice nevertheless, “You and I have to think of the larger scope here. If Alistair knows there is a chance something horrible will happen to _any_ of us he will _certainly_ not be able to fulfill his function in this group.”

Icis set her jaw.

“When this is over—if we haven’t seen any evidence of consequences—you can tell him,” said Bella with finality.

Bella doubted that Alistair would _ever_ be able to take a blow like this—she hoped it never came to that.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Alistair sneaked out of his room to get some space and sat on a bench in the exact center of town. Icis and Bella were approaching the edge of the square, he noticed. It wasn’t like them to walk together—they weren’t exactly enemies, but to call them _friends_ would be going too far. He supposed they were discussing strategies. Two clear leaders in one group was a difficult circumstance; maybe they thought an alliance was advantageous. Bella looked his way and smiled. It was clearly a _fake_ smile, but he smiled back nevertheless. Icis broke off and entered the inn while Bella came toward him.

 

“So you’ve had time to think,” said Alistair, “have you changed your mind?”

Bella sat down next to him, “I haven’t. I think we need to see this through.”

Alistair exhaled a puff of air and slumped down into his seat.

“Listen, if we make it to the Feral Fjords, enter the deep roads, and seal the old gods, there will be no more possibility of Blights!” said Bella, a little incensed, “we will _preempt_ the First Warden!”

Alistair swallowed a laugh. Bella loved logic. She was always thrown by things she saw as irrational.

“I understand what you’re saying,” said Alistair, a smile gently tugging on his lips, “but that’s a lot of ‘ _ifs_ ’.”

“We’ll have to continue to disagree, I think,” bristled Bella. Even though she sounded irritated, she smiled.

“I think it’s time to take this to a vote,” said Alistair.

“Okay,” agreed Bella. She patted his knee as she stood.

 

Alistair was last to file back into the room. The cots were arranged in a circle and everyone looked tense. It was time to choose.

“All right... We have all had the night to consider,” said Morrigan firmly. “Now we choose.”

Everyone looked at each other silently.

“All those in favor of continuing to the Feral Fjords,” continued Morrigan looking from face to face, “raise your hand.”

Valya’s hand shot up. Bella and Dorian followed closely behind. Caronel looked around nervously, but eventually raised his hand. Four votes were accounted for.

“All those in favor of returning to Skyhold to gather our forces,” said Morrigan, “raise a hand.”

Fiona made eye contact with Alistair and they raised their hands in unison. Icis raised her hand shortly after. Three more votes.

“I suppose I need to settle this,” said Morrigan. Her melodic voice wafted over them. “Although I realize that there is strategic value in returning to Skyhold, there is much _more_ to be gained by moving forward.”

Alistair felt his face flush. He set his jaw, ready to argue, but Icis' voice rang out clear and high behind him.

"If that's the way you feel, I can see no other option than to separate," she said.

Alistair squinted at her.

"Morrigan," Icis directed, "Take Valya, Bella, and Alistair with you," she looked at Alistair with an expression he'd never seen her wear before—something cold and detached. "I'll take Dorian, Caronel, and Fiona back with me."

Bella scoffed somewhere in Alistair's periphery.

"Icis," he took two steps closer to her and reached out to touch her forearm. "That's not even _representative_ of the way we voted. I think—"

She shook her arm free and continued to address the group, "I've already made up my mind."

Everyone nodded, _inexplicably_ acquiescing to her edict, but Alistair wanted to keep arguing. He had already expressed that he wanted to go back to Skyhold. It was now _doubly_ true: that she didn't _want_ to be near him made him crave being as close to her as possible.

"Alistair," she said with quiet determination, "We've decided—it's done."

He looked at everyone else in the silence that followed. No one said anything in his defense. He grit his teeth and went to find his pack.

 

**END OF BOOK ONE**


	21. Beginning of Book Two: 9 Months From Now/5 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella is on the edge of a cliff 9 Months from now in a preview of what's to come. 
> 
> 5 Months Ago Bella and Reimas travel through the Deep Roads. Lots of background about Bella and her motivations as well as what she was doing while she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how Bella kept thinking Reimas was familiar in previous chapters? About that... ;) This is a two chapter arc in the past, so stick with it and we'll soon see how everything fits. Comments and questions always encouraged.

**BOOK TWO**

* * *

 

**9 Months From Now**

_**The Feral Fjords** _

**Bella**

Looking down into the pit, time stretched. Bella contemplated her life. This moment was a conclusion that made sense. It was the moment when she would _finally_ sacrifice herself for the good of everyone—how fitting. Around her, the cave walls were crumbling and hot magma was bubbling up 50 feet below. She wondered if this was going to hurt. She imagined she would likely pass out from pain before she actually began to _experience_ her skin peeling off in bloody sheets. Behind her, she could hear Alistair and Cullen banging on the chamber door. Morrigan was chanting frantically. She only had a few moments to make her final decision. _This was it_.

 

* * *

 

**5 Months Ago**

_**The Deep Roads** _

**Bella**

Bella blinked into inky blackness. As she opened her eyes, she realized she was wet—in the Deep Roads there were chasms where water erupted from the earth at random. Apparently, she had set up their tent next to one of them.

Reimas woke up beside her with a start, "What is it? Are you all right?"

Bella smiled reassuringly, "I'm fine. I'm just _wet_ —did the water get you? We must be near one of those spots where it comes up."

Reimas looked down at her bedroll, "I seem to be dry."

Bella smirked, "lucky."

 

Bella and Reimas had been traveling for about two weeks. The ex-templar-turned-grey-warden-recruit was _not_ Bella's idea of a model traveling companion, but the First Warden at Weisshaupt had _strongly suggested_ that Bella take Reimas with her. After Valya and Caronel found the griffon eggs but wouldn't share their location with the First Warden, Bella had intervened on Valya's behalf. This did _not_ endear her to First Warden Avery and Reimas was her _punishment_.

Nevertheless, Reimas turned out to be decent company. Bella discovered on their second day that Reimas had a fantastic sense of humor—very dry and sarcastic. When she was about to tell a joke, the left corner of her mouth curled into a sneer.

"We had better get going," said Bella tersely.

Reimas nodded.

Picking up her pack, Bella fell in step behind Reimas. The purpose of this trek was to find a way to end the Calling—that's what her mission had _always_ been about. Ultimately, this meant destroying or disabling the remaining Old Gods—there were two that the wardens knew of. First Warden Avery sent them in search of a way to access the Old Gods' resting place. All wardens _intrinsically_ knew these locations. It was one of the _perks_ that came with the joining—sudden and ever-present awareness of the Old Gods, constant nightmares, and _certain_ death.

With knowledge of the Old Gods' locations also came the knowledge of the thousands of darkspawn that stood in the way. Since darkspawn were in perpetual turmoil searching for the Old Gods, they clumped around virtually every conceivable entrance. Bella's mission was to find a way that would be less conventional. She _knew_ this meant blood magic—there was no other reason that the First Warden would have sent her with a templar. No one was better suited to disable a blood-mage-turned-abomination. That fact hadn't escaped _either_ of them when Reimas and Bella first received their assignment.

Reimas stopped short a few feet ahead of Bella, "Do you hear that?"

Bella raised her staff to shine light ahead of them and peered into the inky blackness, "I suppose it would be too much to ask for just common nugs or spiders?"

Reimas smiled weakly, "Can you sense any darkspawn?"

" _Too_ many…" said Bella darkly.

"Then stay close," whispered Reimas.

Bella took three steps forward until she was nearly touching Reimas' back. The two of them tiptoed forward, trying not to disturb loose stones beneath their feet. Around the corner, though, it was no use. Stepping into a large, hollow cavern Bella's heart sank. With only the light from her staff, she instantly saw at least 20 darkspawn surging toward them from an entrance on the right and another 30 or 40 coming through a small opening to her left.

"Reimas! Back to back!" screamed Bella over the hum of darkspawn rage.

Reimas sprang into action quicker than Bella could have hoped. Swearing, she enveloped Bella in a templar barrier. It was as strong as any steel, but had one drawback—Bella couldn't cast any magic through it.

"What the _hell_ , Reimas?!" yelled Bella.

Reimas looked confused for just a second before she put the pieces together. Templars weren't designed to fight darkspawn, after all. They were designed to fight _mages_.

Releasing Bella from the barrier, Reimas let out a war cry and cut down two approaching hurlocks with impressive precision. Bella began crafting an area of mind control that would hold one of the entrances to the clearing. If she could block new darkspawn from joining the fray she knew they would have a _chance_ to come out of this alive. Reimas struck out into the horde with the timing of a dancer, cutting down hurlocks and genlocks in droves. For the first time, Bella didn't resent being forced to bring her.

Bella's hold on the large group on the left was weakening and she decided to use one more burst of strength to siphon the energy out of their blood. Sucking the tainted red-black blood through their skin, the darkspawn gurgled and eventually fell to the ground, wriggling and convulsing repulsively. The new blood had power in it, though, and Bella used it to cut a swath through the group now closing in on Reimas. With a burst of red-orange light, at least a dozen hurlock grunts were thrown back against the right wall of the cave. Most of their necks were instantly broken, and those who survived were struggling to stand. Reimas looked at Bella with awe before running to the right-hand wall to decapitate the remaining darkspawn.

When the last darkspawn lay gurgling and dying at their feet, Bella and Reimas looked at each other without daring to speak. They had lived through their first battle. This was a feat in and of itself, but Bella knew better than to think the rest of this was going to be easy. In fact, it was going to be _exponentially_ harder. Bella had been in the Deep Roads five times. Each time, the battles she fought were worse than the time before. Setting her jaw, she followed Reimas deeper into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

For two more weeks they journeyed. Bella and Reimas spent every night huddled together for warmth and every day cutting down dozens of darkspawn. The deeper they descended, the more darkspawn they found. This was partially due to Reimas being there—an untainted soul in the Deep Roads was like a _beacon_ to darkspawn. If she had undergone the joining before they left this trip would have been _easier_ , but without a blight looming that seemed a steep price to potentially pay.

Bella had completely lost her ability to tell time. It was always night in the Deep Roads. She and Reimas slept when they could walk no further and woke as soon as possible to walk more. She only knew what day it was because of an enchanted thedosian calendar she carried—a gift from Morrigan before she left. It had been nearly _two full years_ since she left Denerim. A pang of something like guilt stabbed into her chest— _Alistair_.

_What must he think of me now?_

Bella shook her head slightly, trying to clear the emotional haze. She desperately hoped he'd moved on with his life. When she first set out on this journey, Bella had received dozens of letters—they were _all_ from Alistair. She couldn’t imagine the effort it must have taken to deliver them—enchantments, spells, bribes… She hadn't received a letter since in several months, though. At first she thought it had to do with her location—at Weisshaupt and _here._ Now, though, she suspected that Alistair had stopped writing—not that she blamed him. After all, _she_ was the one who left.

In the moments before she fell asleep at night, she allowed herself to imagine Alistair in Denerim. He and Anora had two little blonde children with big brown eyes, inherited from their father. They sat on miniature thrones between their parents in the great hall. The little boy poked the little girl when he thought no one was looking. The little girl scowled at him, but smiled brightly when Alistair caught her eye. The idea made her _bitter_ , but she couldn't stop picturing it.

 

"We need to stop here for now," said Bella suddenly. She couldn't tell which was worse—the weight of her pack or her guilt.

Reimas looked surprised; "okay…" She put down her pack against a wall and began to assemble their small tent.

Bella smiled and magically produced a small campfire a few feet away. Reimas came up next to her and warmed her hands gingerly.

"How _are_ you?" asked Bella quietly.

Reimas smiled, "In some way, I’m really _good_ , actually."

Bella squinted, "what do you mean?"

Reimas looked up and to the left, as if pulling the words from some small corner of her brain, "I mean that it has felt good being here with you….”

Bella looked at Reimas—her hair fell around her face like heavy curtains. Bella could tell Reimas wanted to _talk_ —her expression was wistful.

Reimas took a deep breath, "When I left the templars, it wasn't _entirely_ because the order had descended into chaos," she began, "It was also because I had broken my vows."

"What vows?" asked Bella, wondering where this was going.

"As you may know, templars are not forced to be _celibate_ by any means, but we are sworn to put the chantry before any personal gains and we are forbidden from becoming romantically involved with any of our charges or fellows," explained Reimas.

"I know that," said Bella.

"Well, I couldn't help it. There was a mage in the tower—an enchanter—who I could not ignore. She used to let her hair hang down over her shoulders and spill out onto her face."

Reimas absently looked at Bella's hair as she spoke.

"She wore dresses—not robes—of white and pale pink. They would flow behind her in the wind…”

Reimas let her gaze soften over the fire.

"Over many years, my resolve weakened…we became lovers. Our meetings were brief and full of fire."

Bella scowled, "So what? You broke some _precious_ chantry rules?" Her feelings about the chantry were not exactly complementary. Religion had more ability to control people than blood magic, she thought.

"It's not _that_ —" said Reimas making intense eye contact, "When the circles were falling, I went to her and we made plans to leave together. Before we ever got the chance to, she was killed."

"I'm sorry," said Bella.

Reimas took a long breath. "After her death I discovered she was a _blood mage_.” Reimas whispered the words like they were poison.

“She had been controlling the minds of the Knight Captain and Knight Commander for months before her death,” explained Reimas. “She was instrumental in destabilizing the order I loved… and she did it with information I gave her feely."

Bella was a little offended—after all, _she_ used blood magic. It had saved Reimas' life every day for the last month. She chose not to say anything, though.

Reimas continued, "In the aftermath, the other templars I trained with—lived with, grew up with—never saw me the same way again. I was ostracized…”

Bella couldn't read Reimas' face.

“Anyway…” said Reimas, as if waking from a dream, “I just wanted to thank you—I’m used to being a _pariah_. You’ve treated me like an equal this whole time…”

Bella smiled. She leaned in toward Reimas until they were shoulder to shoulder.

“…and I _know_ you didn’t want to bring me,” said Reimas, a laugh on her lips, “but you’ve been wonderful anyway…”

Bella looked at her reproachfully.

“It’s not that I didn’t _want_ to bring you,” she stammered, “it’s just that… _well_ … I guess I didn’t want to bring you…” she laughed aloud. “But I’m _ever_ so happy you’re here. These perilous situations really bring people close quickly, don’t they?” She smiled up at Reimas through her eyelashes.

Bella could feel herself moving before she realized what was happening. Her chin tipped to the left and her eyes closed. Reimas’ lips were soft and curved and ever so different from any lips she’d kissed before. Her palm closed around Reimas’ cheek and she tingled when Reimas slid a hand around her ribcage.

When Reimas eventually pulled away, Bella didn’t want to open her eyes. She wondered if Reimas would be looking at her with longing or with scorn.

“Thank you,” said Reimas.

Bella smiled, “for what?”

“Everything—especially that…” Reimas stood suddenly and ducked into their tent. “Good night…” she called.

Bella was left a bit confused, but not _unhappy_. She thought about chasing Reimas into the tent and exploring what hid beneath her heavy plate, but decided against it. Instead, she waited for Reimas to fall asleep before joining her.

Bella crawled into the space next to Reimas and stared at the tent ceiling. Over the course of their journey, she had learned each fold in the canvas and each tiny tear. In them, she imagined shapes—these were her stars. During the blight, Alistair taught her the way humans think about stars—that they have _influence_ over us. She thought it was _ridiculous_ , but romantic. They spent night after night lying on the ground finding patterns in their infinite numbers. Her cracks and folds were scarce and small by comparison, but as she looked up at them, she couldn't help but remember him. In a rush of nostalgia, she was back in the palace. Alistair sat next to Anora. They smiled down at those little blonde children— _no_ elven ears, _no_ radiant eyes. Children that could _never_ be hers, even _if_ she'd wanted them. _Please let them be happy_ , she prayed to no one in particular.

Growing up in a circle, she learned The Chant of Light that was central to the Andrastian religion as part of her core education. She also heard whispers of elven gods that she _should_ follow. Some elves were taken from their homes at older ages; some even lived as apostates for _years_ before being dragged into the circle. _These_ elves tended to be obsessed with "keeping the old ways." To Bella, this seemed ridiculous. If there were any god-type-creatures more _confusing_ than the Maker and Andraste, they were the elven gods. There were dozens of them—so many she couldn't keep them straight. More importantly, though, they were nowhere to be seen. She thought of them as _crutches_ that the weak used to excuse the travesties of their lives. She realized she was grinding her teeth and tried to calm down.

Reimas twitched next to her, deep in sleep, but restless. “Shhhh,” Bella cooed.  Reimas didn’t open her eyes, but she rolled over onto her back and Bella brushed the hair away from her face.

Another twinge of guilt twisted into Bella's gut. The chance of returning from this trip was remote and she would likely never be back in Denerim— _why did she keep holding on_?

Bella chewed on her bottom lip, considering. Looking down into Reimas’ long face, Bella took an inventory of her features. Her nose was pointed and thin, with evidence of a healed break in the bridge that gave it character. Her cheeks were high and proud. Her jaw was sharp. Most impressive, though, were her eyebrows, which arched at exactly the right point to make her face look regal. Bella wondered if she was descended from a prominent family—sometimes children ineligible to be heirs would join the order to stay out of the way of noble succession. Bella thought about waking her up, but decided against it. Instead she turned back over and tried to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the question I hope you're asking yourself is "What's wrong with Bella's memory? Why can't she remember Reimas?"


	22. 5 Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Reimas conclude their journey into the Deep Roads and arrive back at Weisshaupt to discover that nothing is what it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some divergence from lore about how archdemons are created and how blights work. 
> 
> Canon-typical violence and some angsty things. :)

**Bella**

**The Deep Roads**

**5 Months Ago**

The next morning Bella awoke to find the tent empty. Every morning felt the same. She woke as exhausted as she went to sleep and just a bit more irritated—being away from the sun for this long was wearing on her.

“How much farther do we have to go?” asked Reimas when Bella exited the tent.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” answered Bella wearily, “depends on how much resistance we meet; it could be as soon as tomorrow.”

Reimas smiled, “I’m not sure if I should be excited or worried.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bella, sitting next to her.

“Well,” answered Reimas, “I’ll be _excited_ to get the hell out of here, but I’m _worried_ because every step we take closer to the Old God, our odds of surviving this become smaller.” She paused, “We’ll be okay, though.” She reached out for Bella’s hand and squeezed it.           

Bella nodded, pulling her pack over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

They traveled through the circuitous caves all day, fighting off straggling darkspawn as they went. Bella couldn’t tell if they were meeting with less resistance, or simply getting better at dealing with darkspawn. That night, they rolled out their bed mats as usual and Bella was asleep before Reimas even settled next to her.

What seemed like a second later, Reimas was shaking her awake amidst screeching and wailing. Bella shook her head, trying to clear her vision and understand what was going on. The tent had been shredded above her—all her folds and tears were gone. A group of shrieks had erupted from the darkness around them and were circling, claws and teeth everywhere. Bella stood, suddenly alert, and started flinging spells in every direction. Reimas raised her shield over Bella’s head and blocked an incoming claw just in time.

Bella wheeled around and hurled two shrieks out of sight. Reimas stabbed another through what _should_ have been its neck. Bella shot a bolt of electricity at a fourth shriek as Reimas turned to attack the last. Over Bella’s shoulder she heard a scream and looked in time to see the shriek disarm Reimas. With fury she hadn’t felt in years, Bella exploded the last shriek with a spirit bomb. Blood splattered across the entire ruined campsite and splashed across Bella’s face.

Suddenly, everything was quiet and Bella was _scared_.  “Reimas?!” she screamed.

“I’m here,” answered Reimas weakly from a dark corner of the cave.

Bella rushed to her side and propped her up, “are you hurt?”

Reimas took a hand from her side to reveal blood soaked fingers.

Bella sucked in a breath through pursed lips, “okay, okay, I’ve got this. Stay right here—I’ll get poultices,” she grabbed at her pack wildly, looking back over her shoulder at the bleeding Templar. Two weeks ago she _resented_ having to bring this woman along; today, her survival seemed imperative.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Reimas woke up. After bandaging her wounds and putting what few healing spells she knew to good use, Bella set up a makeshift camp. Now, she was hovering over Reimas as she opened her eyes.

“Don’t move too much,” said Bella. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” said Reimas, propping herself up delicately. “Thank you for pulling me over here."

Bella smiled, “of course. We’re only 20 or 30 feet up, now. Nearly there.”

Reimas tried to straighten, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it—I’m going to slow you down.”

Bella sat next to her and took her hand, “All that chivalry may be very helpful as a templar, but it’s useless with me,” she joked, “I’m not leaving you here. We’re just going to wait until you’re well enough to walk.”

Reimas looked frustrated, “That could take _weeks_.”

Bella shot her a sideways smile, “just what kind of mage do you think I am? You’ll be up and around in an hour.”

Reimas looked down at her flank in disbelief. A shred of a smile appeared at the left corner of her mouth.

“Plus, I can’t do this alone,” said Bella under her breath.

“What do you mean?” asked Reimas.

“You don’t _know_?” asked Bella, surprised. “Precisely what do you think we are going to _do_ when we find the Old God, anyway?”

Reimas looked blankly ahead, “I guess I didn’t consider that—kill it?”

Bella laughed, “ _Kill it_?! How exactly do you propose we kill a millennia-old being?”

Reimas smiled, a blush crossing her cheeks.  

Bella’s expression fell as she drew in another breath to explain, “I’m going to let the old god _inhabit_ me… and you’re going to lead me home.”

Reimas’ eyes widened and her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

Bella leaned toward Reimas’ face, “Honestly, I have no idea what is going to happen when I absorb the soul—I might not be _me_ anymore.

In the silence that followed, Reimas didn’t even blink. “And what will happen when we get back to Weisshaupt?” she finally asked.

Bella leaned back onto her heels, “The First Warden and I are going to attempt to expel the old god.”

“ _Attempt_?” asked Reimas.

Bella pushed a hand through her hair and shook her head, “No one has done this before. We have no idea what will happen. If we _can’t_ expel it… I…” she trailed off.

Reimas looked pale.

“If I’m not the same person on the other side of this, I would regret not telling you how much you’ve come to mean to me,” said Bella softly.

Reimas shrugged bashfully, “It’s just the adversity of this place getting to you.”

Bella’s mouth curved into a smile. Her eyes danced with fire. “It’s not _only_ the adversity,” she whispered.

Bella felt resigned. _This_ was her identity—Bella: Hero of Ferelden, barer of old god souls, vanquisher of blights, lover of ex-templars. She laughed internally.

           

* * *

 

Thirty feet lower into the cave, Bella and Reimas came upon a stone door. It was easily three times as high as a human stands. It was framed by runes, the likes of which she had never seen.

“What now?” asked Reimas.

“Now…” said Bella pulling a book out of her satchel, “…we _hope_ the First Warden got the spell right.”

Bella gave Reimas her staff, which was illuminating their immediate vicinity with green-blue light, and held the battered book up. Its pages were yellow and frayed; the margins were filled with notes. Bella peered into the pages, trailing the foreign symbols with her fingertips.

“Ah-ha!” she cried, tapping the book. “This is the one.”

Bella closed her eyes and began muttering something she didn’t fully understand. The spell she was weaving started to take shape immediately. It was a key of sorts. Bella knew that non-mages couldn’t _see_ spells the way she could, but she wished she could take the time to describe it to Reimas—it was amazing. The “key” was an interlocking frame for the door in front of them. The more of the spell she spoke, the more sections of the door frame clicked into place with the door itself. When she finally reached the end of the string of words, the entire magical piece fell into place with a cracking sound—Reimas gasped.

“That’s it,” said Bella tensely.

Reimas took a deep breath and pushed the handle with her entire body weight behind it. The door swung open, puffing dust in Bella’s eyes and mouth.

Blinking and coughing, Bella peered through the door. On the other side, the room was eerie. Although no one had been in this tomb for a thousand years, the room looked new. Black marble coated the interior and shone in the light from Bella’s staff. Unlike the door, the room itself had a relatively low ceiling and was no larger than a small bedroom. The only object inside was a pool of still, black liquid.

“What is _that_?” asked Reimas. Her voice was strangely muffled.

“I think that’s the _soul_ …” whispered Bella, trying to choke back the fear creeping down her throat.

Reimas’ eyes widened.

Bella dropped her things on the floor of the oddly immaculate room. The noise they made was significantly quieter than it should have been. Climbing carefully over the boundaries of the pool, Bella stepped into the liquid, which was closer in consistency to oil than to water. She expected something to happen immediately, but nothing did. She turned and looked at Reimas quizzically.

“Don’t look at _me_ ; I’m hardly an expert on old god souls…” said Reimas in a feeble attempt at humor.

Bella smiled, despite her fear, “Okay, there must be something in the book about this part—can you open it to the page I was just on and show it to me?”

Reimas obliged and Bella went over the words again. Just as she was about to step out of the pool and start again, she heard a high pitched sound. At first she thought it was coming from behind her. She whirled and looked into each corner of the room. No matter which way she turned, however, she couldn’t pinpoint its origin. Eventually, she realized it was coming from _inside_ her head. She must have been pale, because Reimas started toward her, arms outstretched.

“No! Don’t come any closer!” yelled Bella, putting her hands out in front of her. “It’s working…I think. I can _hear_ it.”

Reimas stopped just inches from the edge of the pool and watched with a horrified look on her face.

“Ahhh!” screamed Bella. The noise was suddenly loud and piercing. She dropped to her knees in the inky pool and clutched both sides of her head. Pressing her face into her palms, she yelled into her hands. Before she knew it, she was in the fetal position, being sucked down into the oil. Her head was suddenly submerged and she began to panic. She reached below her to push herself up out of the water, but inexplicably, the pool went on for feet—the floor was nowhere within reach. Reaching up, she couldn’t find air, only more thick blackness. She tried to hold her breath as she clawed in every direction. Kicking and screaming futilely, her lungs screamed for air. Involuntarily, she inhaled the oil and internally accepted her death.

But she did _not_ die. Suddenly, she could see _through_ the darkness. Green-blue light surrounded her on all sides and she felt warmth coming from her chest, radiating out toward her fingertips.

“Bella!” yelled Reimas.

Bella opened her eyes and coughed black liquid out of her mouth. She blinked, trying to focus.  Reimas yelled at her again and shook her shoulders. She seemed to be lying on the ground, the black oil from the well evaporating off her skin. She knew she ought to feel weak and strange, but instead she felt still, whole— _powerful_. Bella sat up without hesitation and looked at Reimas with new eyes.

“Are you all right?” asked Reimas, louder than was necessary. “Did it work?”

Bella considered, she didn’t feel _different_ , exactly, but she felt more connected to everything—herself, her surroundings, even Reimas.

“I think it may have,” she said with cool reserve. Her own voice sounded strange—calm and resounding.

Reimas’ eyes darted back and forth, “What do you feel like?”

“Like _me_ ,” said Bella plainly. As if led by some unseen force from deep inside, she leaned forward and kissed Reimas with calculated deepness. Reimas tasted like earth and fire. She backed away two inches and looked into Reimas’ eyes with curiosity—Reimas looked shocked, but not cross. Bella _felt_ time. She could see the moments strung together by actions and thoughts as if they were a tapestry filling the room.

Reimas blushed and pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Bella stayed absolutely still, acutely aware of each fiber of every muscle in her body. “I’m fine—I’m _better_ than fine. I’m wide awake.”

Reimas gave her a look that conveyed admiration and _fear_. “We need to get out of here…” she said shakily, “The First Warden needs us back in Weisshaupt as soon as possible.”

Bella stood, the movement impossibly smooth, “Let’s go, then.”

 

* * *

 

Five days later, they were making fantastic time. Bella’s usual powers of perception where darkspawn were concerned had increased exponentially. Now, she could not only sense their movements, but also feel their minds. She had been able to send whole groups of them away from their path back to the surface. To date, they hadn't fought a _single_ battle. Bella was sure Reimas was becoming suspicious, because she eyed her with equal parts longing and anxiety.

“What are you thinking?” asked Reimas that night.

Bella was adeptly braiding her hair and gazing into nothing, appraising the colors in the flames. Normally, she saw orange through the middle, a tinge of yellow at each peak, and blue at the center. With these new eyes she saw every color in between—there were colors she didn’t even have names for. As she looked up at Reimas across the fire, she felt like the world was moving in slow motion while her mind was hurtling forward at breakneck speeds.

“Nothing,” she said, “I’m just watching the fire…”

In truth, she was thinking about _so many_ things she couldn’t express them. She didn’t have the _vocabulary_ to explain the concepts that were bombarding her subconscious. In the time it took Reimas to cross the campsite and sit down next to her, Bella had three highly developed thoughts about the structure of the deep roads and their unique histories, filled with the names of dwarven paragons she didn't _know_ she knew.

 “I’m worried about you,” said Reimas. Her eyes were dark and liquid.

Bella turned and put a hand on Reimas’ arm. A few days ago, she discovered that by looking at Reimas and evaluating her body language, Bella had an idea of what Reimas was about to say. ‘ _You seem different_ ,’ she predicted.

“You seem… different,” said Reimas, seriously.

Bella felt fear and exhilaration in the same second. She suppressed an inappropriate grin.

Reimas wound an arm around Bella’s waist and pulled her in protectively. Bella felt the weight of Reimas’ arm and each striation of her forearm. She also _felt_ Reimas’ anxiety as if it were her own. Her powers of perception were growing exponentially.

“Don’t worry about me,” she smiled, although it felt rather forced. “I’m doing fine.”

Reimas kissed her, softly at first, but with growing fervor. Bella _tried_ to enjoy it, but she noticed each rough patch of skin on Reimas’ dehydrated lips and she could feel each muscle of mastication contract and relax—her senses were strong enough to be distracting.

Bella pulled back and her eyes snapped open, “Let’s just get some sleep… we have a long way to walk tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, they reached the surface. Bella stopped short at the threshold and put an arm out in front of Reimas. It felt poignant—when Bella and Reimas crossed this border before, they were basically strangers. Now they were… something _else_.

“Are you all right?” asked Reimas. She grasped Bella’s outstretched arm and pulled it against her chest.

Bella smiled. “I’m okay, I was just thinking about _you_ …” she gazed out into the sunshine—the darkness over her shoulder forever etched into the recesses of her mind.

Reimas turned and put her arms around Bella’s waist, forcing Bella to look up at her. “I'm never going to forget this, you know—being here with _you_.” She blushed.

Bella felt detached—she found herself evaluating the freckles that dotted Reimas’ cheeks and her expertly coiled bun on top of her head. She didn’t _want_ to notice these details—this level of observation was unnerving.

Reimas’ face started to fall when Bella didn’t say anything.

Bella cleared her throat. She felt the muscles around her mouth pull her lips into something pleasant-looking. "Me neither, Reimas…"

Reimas beamed. Tipping her head to the side, she kissed Bella with passion and tightened her grip on Bella’s sides.

In the amount of time it took Reimas to connect their mouths, Bella considered _thirty_ unimportant details about their surroundings and recalled the last time she said she loved someone—she replayed the entire conversation with Alistair that detailed her plans to leave Denerim. She remembered his crestfallen expression and the way his eyes filled with tears. She callously turned away from him and slammed the door to their bedroom while he was still crying, claiming she had to leave _right then_. The memory was sharp—harshly jagged and _real_.

“Let’s go,” said Bella, pulling back. She stepped into the sunlight.

           

* * *

 

When Weisshaupt finally came into view at the top of that snow-covered peak, Bella was filled with turmoil. A deeply shrouded intuition insisted this was a _mistake_.

Reimas and Bella were shown to First Warden Avery's chambers. As he closed the door behind them, Bella considered him warily. Something about him was _off_. Bella could see _behind_ his smile—a lie lurked there. All at once, and slightly too late, she _knew_ : this situation was dangerous.

"Were you successful?" asked Avery.

"We were," said Reimas, bowing her head respectfully.

Bella did _not_ bow. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to him—intuiting his thoughts almost as quickly as he could form them. He was full of envy and greed.

"Then let's get on with it," he said to Bella. "Kneel."

She obliged, but did not let her eyes off of him.

Avery began chanting quietly, crafting a spell around Bella. The wisps of fade energy nipped at her skin and tugged at her hair. A moment later, he leaned his wrinkled face toward hers.

"You've done it!" he said in an excited whisper. His eyes were on fire. Then he was laughing—uncontrollably, chaotically, _maniacally_. "You've done it!" he yelled again.

"Ser?" asked Reimas. She looked pale in Bella's periphery.

"She has joined with the Old God! She now carries its soul," he answered with a sneer.

"Yes, Ser…how are you going to get it _out_ of her?" asked Reimas naively.

Bella anticipated the answer before he began speaking.

Avery crossed the room to Reimas and leaned into her menacingly, "I'm _not_. No one can do that."

Reimas didn't say anything, but her ears were turning red.

"This was your plan all along?" asked Bella, feeling brave. "…to what end?"

" _To what end_?" laughed Avery, "Have you _really_ not figured that out? I thought the soul was supposed to give you _wisdom_ …"

Bella already knew what he was going to say, but she didn't want to believe it. "You want another Blight. You're going to make me _taint_ the soul and create an archdemon…" she trailed off in disillusionment.

"Ah-ha!!" He pointed and clapped in her direction. "How _fantastic_ to see the soul in action."

"There is one problem with your plan, though," said Bella as she rose from her knees and walked to Reimas' side. " **I won't do it**. And I’m powerful enough to choose."

"That is where you are wrong, my dear," cackled Avery. "I have had you under my control for months. You won't even _remember_ this. You'll be absolutely powerless to do anything but fulfill your purpose. How I wish I could be there to see your _finale_."

With a wave of his hands, Bella was thrown onto the floor and pinned down. She fought with every ounce of strength she had, but she couldn't move. Her mind bucked against his will impotently. He loomed over her with one hand outstretched. Soon fade wisps were coming toward her like knives. She closed her eyes, but one had already stabbed into her chest and her veins filled with ice cold magic. Her hold on the soul was weakening. She felt it retreat into a tiny, dense core in her chest and eventually cool into nothing.

Reimas grabbed her sword and swung it wildly at Avery. He ducked out of the way and eventually shot a stream of red light at her chest, which flung her back against a wall. Bella couldn't see what was happening, but she knew that Reimas' mind was likely being erased. All the time they had spent together would soon be gone. Bella _tried_ to remember her face—her _beautiful_ face with those royal eyebrows and that slightly broken nose. The image was beginning to fade from the edges in. Bella struggled and screamed inside her head, but before she knew it, the Reimas she knew was gone.

 

* * *

 

**4 Months Ago**

**_Weisshaupt_ **

**Bella**

The morning air was sweet and fresh. The snow outside glinted like diamonds in the sun. Today was a _good_ day… Today was the day she would finally be able to tell Alistair about her success with finding a cure for the calling. At her writing desk, she wrote a cursory letter and ran down the hall to find a messenger. She felt uncharacteristically light. She knew that her mission—to find the tombs of the old gods and rid the world of them once and for all—would be received with varying degrees of incredulity from the inquisition leaders and Alistair himself, but at least she would be able to share this mission with _someone_. She had spent such a long time without _any_ true confidants. Valya and Caronel were great friends, but they seemed more like protégés than equals. Other than the two elves, Bella hadn’t managed to make many real friends during her time at Weisshaupt.

Racing down the hallways, her hair puffed behind her and her simple gown billowed. She was in the habit of wearing these soft dresses now. She couldn’t remember why. Around the corner, she ran across a group of warden-recruits. Valya was there with a tall, dark-haired woman whose name Bella could _never_ remember. She was quite stunning to look at, actually, but Bella couldn't keep track of her face long enough to assign a name to it. Bella smiled and casually sat down next to Valya. The dark haired woman smiled at her with a look of familiarity that made Bella feel odd.

"I just wanted to tell you," began Bella, "that I'm about to send a letter to Alistair. So I'll be _leaving_ tomorrow."

The brunette made a huffing noise from across the table— _what did that mean_?

Valya looked sad and happy all at once, "I'll see you again soon, won't I?"

"Of course," said Bella. "As soon as I've arranged for the reinforcements we need, I will meet you and we will be off to the far north."

Bella felt the nameless woman's eyes on her. _What did she want?_ Bella tried to shake off the feeling as she stood to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: back in the present... Cullen finally gets some chapters. :)


	23. Back in the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis makes the trip back to Skyhold and meets Cullen along the way. Political trouble is brewing and Icis makes an out of character threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, we're hurtling toward Bella on the ledge... eek!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments so far, I appreciate it so much. :)

**After the two groups separated.**

_**Val Royeaux** _

**Icis**

Once they were back on Orlesian soil, Icis felt somewhat at home. Orlais was not her _land_ per se, but it was certainly more familiar than the Anderfels or Nevarra. Fiona arranged for them to spend a few days in Val Royeaux to regroup before finishing their trip back to Skyhold. Upon arriving in the city, Briala greeted them at the gate. Icis was not expecting to see her—particularly outside of the palace.

“Welcome back to my city, Inquisitor,” she said coolly.

“Hello Briala,” said Icis extending a hand. “Thank you for letting us stay here on our way home. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“There is someone here to see you,” said Briala quietly. “Meet him in the armory to the left of the square.”

Icis was suspicious, but nodded and led her group to the guest quarters of the palace. Once they had settled, she set out to meet this mysterious person alone.

Rounding the corner, she saw the armory and approached its entrance cautiously. The iron hinges groaned when she touched the door, announcing her entrance. A few shoppers turned and looked at her, but one person did not—broad shoulders, blonde hair, and a coat adorned with feathers; it was Cullen.

“Icis,” he said breathlessly, crossing to her.

“Cullen, what are you doing here?” Icis asked.

“While you were gone,” began Cullen, “things changed…” he trailed off.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Anders and Hawke have come out of hiding,” he said quickly, “they are inciting a rebellion— _again_.”

Icis knew that Cullen _thought_ he was delivering bad news, but to her this was the best news possible. Hawke and Anders had done what she couldn’t—they were standing up for _all_ the mages, even clans like hers.

“What has happened so far?” asked Icis.

“Hawke led an assault on the tower in Cumberland. She liberated the mages there and they are traveling east to the Free Marches to set up a base of operations,” answered Cullen.

Although his voice was steady, Icis could tell he was worried.

“What do you need me to do?” asked Icis.

“We need you back at Skyhold as quickly as possible—we need _all_ of you,” he answered.

Icis sighed, “ _That_ is going to be a problem…”

Cullen searched her face, “what do you mean?”

“Alistair, Bella, Morrigan, and Valya broke off from the rest of us a week ago,” she explained, “They were convinced that the best course of action was to continue to the Feral Fjords.” Alistair’s name felt funny in her mouth.

Cullen’s eyes widened, “what?!”

“I _know_ ,” she kneaded her brow in her palm.

Icis looked at Cullen for a moment. From the way his eyes were darting, she could tell he was running scenarios in his mind.

“Okay, I have an idea,” said Icis, “there is _one_ way to contact them…”

           

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Cullen had been waiting for hours. The glint in Icis’ eyes when she said there was _one way_ to contact the others worried him. Sitting in the hallway outside her door, Cullen could hear an argument unfolding. Although he couldn’t make out her _exact_ words, he could hear an undercurrent of annoyance in Icis’ lilting voice. In days past he would have given her a disapproving look and she would have softened. It was sobering to see how different things were now. When the battle against Corypheus finally ended and the rift was closed, they had pledged to see what happened to the world _together_. It turned out to be a promise _neither_ of them could keep. Cullen sighed and pushed a hand through his sandy hair absently.

When the argument finally died down, the doors burst open and Icis came out with a distinct flush in her cheeks that Cullen had not seen in months.

Rising, he crossed to her, “So?”

She looked tired, but victorious. “Fiona has agreed to contact Morrigan. She was reticent to do it because their method of communication is apparently… _unorthodox_ …” she raised an eyebrow, “it requires the eluvian we have at Skyhold.”

Cullen was nervous about that object. The mirror had proven dangerous and unpredictable on multiple occasions and although he had never traveled through one himself, he understood that humans were not well suited to them.

“We’ll need to leave as soon as possible, then,” said Cullen.

Icis nodded, but the expression on her face conveyed an internal debate.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Oh…” began Icis, “…nothing... I can hardly wait to be home.”

“Will you be ready to leave by morning?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ll make sure we are,” said Icis.

Cullen began to turn down the hall toward his guest quarters, but stopped midway when he realized she wasn’t moving.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“No,” said Icis with an appraising look in his direction. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

The whole way back to his quarters Cullen analyzed that look. _What did it mean_? He considered himself exceptionally good at reading people—any military leader _had_ to be. But when it came to Icis, he was always a bit taken aback. Their first few months leading the Inquisition together had been fraught with confusion, tension, and missed social cues.

He stopped short in the hallway. He hated to be thinking about her so much. It made him feel weak and stupid. Shaking the feeling off, he opened the door to his room and resigned himself to sleep. He needed to _focus_ —this second mage rebellion was likely to be bloodier than the first and he wanted to prevent that.

The ceiling of this room was intricately painted. The scene depicted Empress Celine’s rise to power after the murder of her parents by a rival family. Orlesians were like that—always glorifying the _gruesome_. Now that Celine was dead, he wondered how long it would be before Emperor Gaspard emblazoned his own story onto the ceilings of his guest rooms. Maybe Briala had forbid it. For all the evil that Empress Celine committed, she had been the love of Briala’s life. Cullen supposed it was _hard_ to get over the love of your life—no matter _what_ they did to you. That thought had occurred to him several times lately as he realized he _wasn’t_ completely wrecked by his separation from Icis. It made him feel guilty.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

A week later, they were back in Skyhold. Some spring snow storms had slowed their progress, but when the spires of her fortress finally came into view she picked up the pace and brought everyone home with haste. This morning, she was drinking tea in her war room as the sun came up. It felt _right_ —like the entire world was beginning to wake up and she was at the center of it.

Last night, Fiona contacted Morrigan through the eluvian. It was such a secret method of communication that Icis hadn’t been allowed to watch. All she knew was that Morrigan was “flying” back to them. She should be here anytime now.

 

Icis heard horns an hour later—it _must_ be Morrigan. Icis squared her jaw and seated herself erectly on her throne in the great hall. The doors swung open to reveal a great owl, which was rapidly transforming into a woman. Its black feathers smoothed to hair while its eyes stayed a piercing yellow-green. When she stood, Morrigan was wearing her most traditional outfit—belts and buckles connected pieces of leather around her waist while her cape covered only what was demanded by society. She was mesmerizing, in a lot of ways. Namely, she was a complete mystery. Despite the years she’d spent at Skyhold, she didn’t feel like she _knew_ Morrigan at all.

“Thank you for coming,” said Icis from her perch at the head of the room.

“Fiona said it was urgent,” answered Morrigan.

“I assume you’ve been briefed on the mage situation?” asked Icis.

“Of course,” said Morrigan slyly, “the only question that remains is what _I_ have to do with it. As you know, I care very little about mage politics.”

Icis saw the hint of a smile flit across Morrigan’s face. Apparently this was some sort of joke.

“We needed _all of you_ , as a matter of fact,” continued Icis. “The best thing we can do now is unite as rulers and protectors of our respective nations and groups. We need to stop the violence before this gets out of hand, _obviously_.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, “surely the Inquisition can do this on its own?”

Icis squinted. She wasn’t sure how to answer that without weakening her position as Inquisitor. Then, an idea occurred to her. It was so out of character that it felt as if it had been deposited into her mind from somewhere else.

“The Inquisition can and _will_ prevail, but only those nations that are present will still stand after this is done,” she said with cold precision.

A hush fell over the court. Every face turned pale and every person froze in place.

Morrigan, by contrast, did not look fazed, “I see… You’re resorting to idle threats now. How _clever_ of you.” Morrigan rolled her eyes infuriatingly.

Icis felt a hot rage boiling inside her. Before she could stop herself, she sprang to her feet and spoke in a voice deeper and louder than she thought possible, “If you think I won’t go to all lengths necessary to achieve my goals, you don’t know me _half_ as well as you think you do.”

The court stood transfixed. The tension between the two of them grew exponentially as Morrigan took four deliberate steps forward. Icis stood fixed in place, a boulder of heat crushing her ribcage.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes appraisingly and, before anyone could stop her, disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke.

Icis was left standing alone at the head of the room. Once Morrigan was gone, she felt the eyes of the court on her. They looked terrified. _What had come over her just now_? She had never even _considered_ using the Inquisition as a vehicle for conquering nations, although it certainly had that potential.

Steadying herself, she turned to face Cullen on her left, “Commander—war room. _Now_.”

 

 


	24. The Inn at Laysh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan returns from Skyhold with bad news. Alistair receives some bad news of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of a series I would call "the reveal," wherein everyone finally learns the truth. This one is a bit short, but I'll be uploading all of these back to back. :)

**Alistair**

Morrigan had been gone for several days; she received some sort of magical missive from Fiona and disappeared. Alistair knew that wasn’t a good sign.

Despite that, their extended stay in the Laysh inn had been surprisingly jovial. While searching for answers on the Hossberg bombing and trying to understand Reimas-the-Spy, he was actually starting to feel _rested_. It was a far cry from his usual state of melancholy. Sitting at the desk, he watched as Bella poured over her notes. Her hair repeatedly dropped down into her eyes, obscuring the pages. Pushing the strands behind her ears used to be one of his favorite diversions.

 

Suddenly, a puff of purple smoke appeared right in the middle of the room. Out of it stepped Morrigan— _and Kieran_.

Bella stood up first and rushed to Morrigan’s side, “What has happened?”

Morrigan looked worried— _actually worried_. If Morrigan was worried, Alistair thought he should probably be panicking.

“Skyhold is no longer safe for Kieran,” said Morrigan weakly. “I needed to get him out of there as quickly as possible so I transported us both here. It has weakened me considerably.” She nearly collapsed, but Bella caught her around the waist.

“What do you mean?” asked Alistair crossing to Kieran. Instinctively, he put his arms around Kieran’s shoulders. When Kieran looked up at him queerly, he let go, embarrassed.

Morrigan leaned into a high-backed chair and breathed in deeply, “There is something _wrong_ with Icis,” she said plainly.

An expression transiently grazed Bella's features. Alistair didn't understand what it meant.

“Wrong _how_?” asked Alistair.

“I don’t know,” said Morrigan, her eyes darting back and forth, “if I didn’t know any better I’d say she was under a spell… but who could be controlling her? She has been with us for months.”

Bella didn’t say anything so Alistair tried to discern what she was feeling. He found a deliberate wall up in the place where her emotions should be. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, but she wouldn’t look at him.

Kieran sat down on a footstool to Morrigan’s left, “Are you all right, Mother?” he asked sweetly.

Alistair had avoided seeing Kieran for a year. Whenever he _did_ see him, he realized what a delightful boy he was. Morrigan had done well, considering the circumstances.

Morrigan gently tousled Kieran’s hair, “yes, Darling. I’m going to be fine, I just need to rest overnight and I’ll be right as rain. So will you, you know. Your lessons will be a little different now, that’s all—much more _practical_ , actually.”

She smiled and he beamed at her as they crossed to the beds in the far corner of the room.

Alistair caught a glimpse of Bella’s mind. She must have let her guard down for just a second. She felt… guilty? Worried? Regretful? Why would she feel like that _now_? Crossing to her, he looked at her discerningly. She instantly put up that internal wall again.

“You know, I can _feel_ that, right?” he asked indignantly.

Bella looked at the floor, “it’s nothing.”

He knew she was lying, “I need to talk to you— _outside_.” He looked at her and gestured toward the door.

Mist was hovering all through the town square today. After just a moment outside, Alistair’s sweater was moist and uncomfortable. Bella’s hair was expanding in the humidity, but she didn’t look like she noticed.

“So? What’s wrong with Icis?” asked Alistair irritably.

Bella sat on the edge of a fountain. “I am not _sure_ of anything, actually…” she was looking up at him for reassurance, but he didn’t let his face show any sympathy. Eventually, she continued, “but during the explosion—in Hossberg… she used blood magic.”

“So?”Alistair didn’t understand why Bella looked so pale; _she_ used blood magic all the time.

Bella rolled her eyes, “So? _So_ she’s never done it before. _So_ she didn’t do it right! _So,_ she made a deal with a demon.”

Now Alistair felt cold.

Bella continued, “And her request was something _big_ —so the consequences are likely to be serious.”

Alistair thought she was being oddly evasive, “What did Icis ask for?”

Bella looked at him again; her eyes were deeper than usual, like two pools of ink. “You were dying—you might have been _dead_.”

Alistair wanted to laugh at first, but the second before he let himself the veracity of her words sunk in. _Of course_ he was dead—subconsciously he _knew_ he was dying back in Hossberg. There had been other things that didn’t add up. Morrigan said she hadn’t healed him, but he woke up without a scratch. His lungs _should_ have been filled with smoke and ash, but he barely even coughed. He rode _all night_ to Weisshaupt without a thought of respite.

“Maker…” he breathed.

 “I didn’t want to tell you this, you know,” said Bella quietly.

“Why the _hell_ not?” he said, suddenly angry.

Bella crossed her arms in front of her chest defensively, “You didn’t need to know. It was done _to_ you and unless you started to exhibit symptoms, I wasn’t going to worry you like that.”

“ _Symptoms_?!” he shouted in exasperation. “You were just going to let me start to go insane or get sick or lose my faculties _before_ you told me?!”

“Alistair—” she reached out to touch his arm.

“Stop,” he warned, pushing her hands away. Ten minutes ago he would have picked her up and cradled her into a hug if she had touched his arm like that, but ten minutes ago felt like another _lifetime_ now. He was dead. He was _literally_ a dead person walking around.

“I need a minute,” he said, turning on his heel.

 

* * *

 

He stormed into the inn and crossed to Morrigan. His knees felt weak and his face was hot.

“I need to talk to you for a second, okay?” he asked, gently sitting on the corner of the bed where she was resting.

Morrigan must have seen the seriousness in his eyes because she instantly touched Kieran’s shoulder, “Go and play with Valya for a few minutes and then I’ll tell you about some adventures I’ve been having.”

Kieran smiled and ran off to Valya, who was heading downstairs.

When they were alone Morrigan pulled herself up to rest on some pillows, “What is it?” she asked.

“Bella should have told you something. I don’t know _why_ she didn’t,” he began. “I thought she knew better than to keep secrets from _you_ , of all people.”

Morrigan looked genuinely surprised.

“Icis isn’t being controlled by a mage, but she might be turning into an abomination,” he said seriously.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes, “do you even know what that _means_ , Alistair?” she looked at him dismissively.

“I don’t know the _technicalities_ of all the ways it can happen, but I know she made a deal with a demon in Hossberg,” he said sharply.

Now Morrigan sat up straighter, “ _Why_ would she do that?”

“I was dead,” the words formed in his mouth mechanically. He choked back bile at hearing them aloud.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, “That _ridiculous_ girl. I am disappointed.”

Alistair was disappointed in some way too… although he was certainly grateful to be _alive_.

Morrigan breathed in sharply, “It makes some sense to me. She is not becoming, as you said, ‘an abomination,’ rather, she is _fluctuating_. I have heard of it happening to mages who are strong enough not to be possessed fully. The magic slowly eats at them, wearing down their defenses and eventually making them crave it. Think of her as the mage equivalent of a lyrium-addicted-templar.”

For Alistair, that did put things into perspective. “So what do you we do?” he asked.

Morrigan looked at him thoughtfully, “we need to make sure that Kieran is in a safe place and get back to Skyhold.”

“Where would you consider _safe_?” asked Alistair, “it seems like she is demanding that the leaders of every nation ally with her… and almost everyone I can think of is likely to oblige—certainly Anora will swear Ferelden’s fealty in my absence.”

“We are going to have to get creative,” said Morrigan with a sparkle in her eyes.

The two of them sat there looking at each other for a moment. It was unusual for them to be speaking so frankly. Typically, their conversations were full of well-intentioned, but rather harsh, banter.

 “The only way I can think of will be for you to go back to Denerim," she paused, "…and take him with you,” She wasn’t looking at Alistair—her gaze was hovering somewhere in the distance—but he could feel the weight of her decision all around them.        

 “You’re going to let me _tell_ Kieran?” he let out a little gasp.

“I did _not_ say that. I just think it would do him good to be near someone powerful, who could look out for him politically—should the need arise.” Morrigan bristled, returning to her normally aloof demeanor.

Alistair smiled. “I’d like to tell you something,” he said sheepishly, “I think you’re a wonderful mother, despite the _strangeness_ of this situation.”

She _almost_ smiled, “thank you. Now bring Bella to me so I can scream some sense in her direction.”

 

* * *

 

**An Hour Later**

**Bella**

“I was thinking that I needed to preserve some _semblance_ of normalcy!” yelled Bella indignantly.

“That’s ridiculous, and we both know it,” said Morrigan.

Bella searched the face of her best friend—she knew she was losing this argument. Keeping this secret from Alistair and Morrigan was stupid and _dangerous_ for all of them. It was a mistake, she knew that. “You’re right,” she admitted.

Morrigan smiled with increasing sympathy, “I understand your motivation; it just wasn’t the right decision.”

“I know… I just…” Bella trailed off. She was coming to an internal realization that was embarrassing to say out loud, even to a trusted confidant. “I wanted to protect him... I love him… maybe not like I once did… but _still_ … he’s a _part_ of me.”

Morrigan smiled at her knowingly, “I know. It’s one of your great shortcomings as a person,” she laughed, “but isn’t that exactly Icis’ motivation?”

Bella swallowed hard. The parallel was sobering.

Morrigan pulled Bella into a hug and kissed her cheek. “I know this has been hard on you. Being in love is the _worst_ thing that can happen to a person—it steals your autonomy,” she laughed.

“I love _you_ , you know—more than _anyone_ else,” laughed Bella.

Morrigan pulled her in tighter, “We’re going to handle this—together.”


	25. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Icis make a highly controversial plan to deal with her affliction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my main purposes in this chapter is to help the reader understand how hard it is for Cullen to decide when to trust his training versus his feelings. It becomes an important dichotomy for him down the line. :)

**Cullen**

_**Skyhold** _

The morning air was crisp and Cullen’s breath was making wispy tendrils as he surveyed the troops. Since Icis demanded that an army be constructed, new recruits were pouring in from every corner of Thedas. Yesterday, a group of nearly three hundred Chevaliers had arrived from Orlais. Although Cullen thought their plumed helmets were ostentatious, he appreciated their swordsmanship. Looking out over the battlements, their red feathers and shining silver armor made them look like odd mechanical birds.

He thought this group would do nicely, should they actually need it. He wondered what the purpose of all this _truly_ was—that day in the throne room had worried him. Although he knew Icis could be as calculating as the next world class leader, he had never known her to be so ruthless. 

A chill washed over his spine as he thought about it. Just as he started to ruminate, the battlement hatch opened with a creak and he turned on his heel to see Icis approaching him. It was one of the first times they had actually been alone together since her return and he felt the weight of it across his chest.

“Can I help you with anything, Inquisitor?” he asked formally.

She smiled up at him. He forgot how tiny she was—she barely came up to his shoulder. He wondered how someone so small could exude such largeness.

“Nothing at the moment. I just wanted a chance to inspect our new troops,” said Icis, looking out over the battlements.

He turned back toward the training yard and clasped his hands behind his back, “They are a formidable group.”

“Indeed,” she said, not looking at him.

After a long moment of silence, his curiosity got the better of him. “Can I ask you a question?”

She looked surprised, “Of course, Cullen.”

A sense of familiarity wafted over him as he heard his own name, “Why are we amassing these troops? What is the _real_ purpose?”

She looked suddenly cross, “I would think that obvious. We need to stabilize the region.”

He softened his expression submissively, “Of course… I only meant that I was surprised to see how you interacted with Morrigan the other day…” he wondered if he should stop talking, “I just thought you were usually more _agreeable_ to her advice.”

A strange expression crossed Icis’ face for just a second. Cullen wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Oh… _that_ ,” said Icis placidly. “I lost my temper with her, that’s all. I thought she would be more sensible about this whole situation, frankly. I need her and the others back here. I’ll have to find another way, it seems. It’s just infuriating—Bella and Morrigan always think their missions are so much more important than… well, _everything else_ , I guess.”

“I see,” said Cullen looking into her face. He hadn’t looked at her in so long, it felt raw to do it now, but he couldn’t look away. Icis looked back at him with equal intensity.

“Are you still in residence above your office?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes…?” said Cullen questioningly. She knew very well that’s where he was staying. He had spent every night there since she kicked him out of her chambers.

“Let’s have dinner together tonight,” she said definitively.

He nodded and she left. He wondered what her motivations were, but he didn’t want her to take back the invitation. Since their sour ending last fall he had longed for reconciliation. He remembered the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed and the lilt in her voice when she asked him tactical questions. He wondered if he was being given a second chance—not that he necessarily thought things would be different. Their primary problem had been about the circles, and he _certainly_ wasn’t going to pretend that he thought mages should be free to wreak havoc. He considered himself a man of principle, and despite his feelings for her, he could never have pretended to agree with her on a topic so important. He reasoned that perhaps with the circles collapsed they could find common ground on which to stand together.

 

* * *

 

**Later That Night**

**Cullen**

A tight feeling constricted his breathing as he attempted to knock on the door. This felt significantly more important than just dinner. He tried not to feel nervous. He puffed up his chest and contracted his core muscles to feel stronger, but it was no use. The butterflies in his stomach continued to fly. Before he could knock, the door swung open.

In the doorframe Icis looked like a portrait of a leader—stern and graceful with a hint of superiority. Cullen saw a glint of something dangerous behind her eyes.

He bowed slightly, “Inquisitor Lavellan.” She attempted a perfunctory curtsy and he choked back a laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation.

Gesturing toward a table against the window, she led him into the room. The lighting was low and everything flickered in candlelight. Out the window the snowy mountains stretched up as teeth biting a pink band of sunset. She could not have picked a better spot for _whatever_ this was. As he sat, a servant rushed to his side, poured them both glasses of wine, and left the bottle tableside before scurrying back downstairs to the kitchens.

“So,” he began tentatively, “Was there something you wanted to discuss?”

Icis swallowed half the glass of wine before answering. “Let me be frank," she began in an uncharacteristically dark tone, "I need to tell you something."

He felt odd; _why was she confiding in him_?

"I don't know what came over me in the hall the other day..." she confessed.

It was unusual for her to admit weakness, even when she was _clearly_ in the wrong. During their entire relationship, he could count the number of apologies he’d received on one hand.

"…I _don't_ intend to conquer any nations with the Inquisition…" she continued.

"I am relieved to hear you say that," said Cullen.

Hearing her speak so candidly made him feel like they were connected again. Without realizing it, leaned in toward her and softened his posture.

"You won't be when I finish," she said warningly.

Cullen's instinct was to back up, but, in a calculated gesture, he leaned in closer.

"When I was on my journey, I made a mistake—a _magical_ mistake. I have spent these last weeks regretting it and trying to discern a method of correction… I think you're the only one who might know a way," she looked at him hopefully.

Cullen knew she must have done something _terrible_ if she was willing to come to _him_ for help.

"I'll do whatever I can to help you, of course," he said, trying to sound reasonable.

Icis leaned across the table and widened her impossibly lavender eyes, "I made a deal with a demon… and I'm afraid I'm becoming _something_ ," she said.

Cullen tried to keep his expression neutral, but he knew he failed by her reaction. The years of Chantry indoctrination kicked in reflexively.

"I know this is a lot to take in," said Icis. She scooted her chair around the table until their knees touched. "If I were in your position, I would be angry and confused—and I would have lots of questions. You can ask me anything. I _need_ your help and, therefore, am at your mercy."

Cullen edged his leg away from hers.  He knew she wasn't _contagious_ , but he recoiled from her just the same. The things he had seen possessed mages do were unconscionable and he was quite traumatized even now.

"I should start by saying that I didn't do this for _power_ —I did it to save someone's life…" she began.

Cullen interrupted, "I don't care why you did it, and I’m _not_ a templar anymore. I _doubt_ there is anything I can do for you." His words came out abrupt and judgmental. He regretted their tone immediately, but the sentiment rang true.

Icis looked crestfallen. "I understand… then I hope you will let me explain this to you so that you can help me find someone who _can_ help me."

She was being so _reasonable_ ; it made Cullen feel even worse about his guttural reaction.

After a long period of silence, Icis continued, "If you need some time to process this we can wait—"

"No," interrupted Cullen. “Tell me now.” He was surprised to hear himself say that. _Did he really want to know what she had done_?

Icis mustered a weak smile, "Come, sit with me." She led him to a settee near the window, leaving their meal untouched on the table.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

After explaining every detail of the explosion in Hossberg, Icis felt raw. Cullen's expression was utterly unreadable. She remembered now that he was like this—in all the time they spent together, the final curtain to his subconscious had never been drawn.

"Do you understand why I need help?" she asked finally.

"I do," said Cullen ruefully. "What I _don't_ understand is why you did it."

Icis furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes, "I've just explained that… Alistair was about to die and I couldn't find Morrigan."

Cullen did not look impressed, "I understand the _situation_ ; I just don't understand why you didn't levitate him out of the building or drag him out or _something_."

This was, of course, the question Icis had asked herself a million times. "I was panicked," she answered plainly.

"You were _panicked_?" Cullen raised an eyebrow.

Icis didn't want to tell him this part. She felt embarrassed and exposed enough already. She bit her bottom lip, considering.

"Are you going to tell me _all_ of it or not?" snapped Cullen.

Icis took a big breath, "I _love_ him—loved—I'm not completely sure. At the time, though, I was convinced that I couldn't live without him, so I saved him."

Icis hoped Cullen would look like he understood, but instead, he looked disgusted and arrogant.

"All of this _happened_ —I can't do anything to change that,” she nearly shouted. “What matters now is that I am having _outbursts_ , like the one with Morrigan… They aren't _me_ … I can't explain it more than that," she said.

Cullen looked down at his hands and then out the window.

Waiting for Cullen to respond felt awkward, but she willed herself to be silent by counting the embroidered diamonds in her settee.

"We need to contact Cassandra—Divine Victoria, I mean," he said finally. Neither of them was used to calling Cassandra by her new name. Icis thought the whole practice of re-naming Divines was confusing and stupid. She had decided long ago to avoid calling Cassandra by her title in a small act of defiance.

"What good will that do?" she asked.

"I don't know exactly," said Cullen. He shifted uncomfortably and eventually stood to pace. "…but _I_ don’t know how to handle this situation—I think Cassandra might."

"Why do you say that?" asked Icis, intersecting his path.

Cullen stopped short a few inches from her face, "Cassandra was investigating a way to cure the tranquil…"

Icis shuddered at the mention of tranquility. "Why would that help in this situation?" she asked.

Cullen let out a long breath, "Icis… many of those mages undergo the rite of tranquility _because_ they are possessed—it cures them of the possession…" He looked at her apprehensively.

Icis felt her jaw go slack, "You're saying you want me to become _tranquil_?"

Cullen gripped her shoulders with both hands, steadying her, "I'm saying that _if_ you do, we will be able to expel the demon… and then Cassandra may be able to reverse the rite."

Icis understood what he meant, but she doubted it would be as easy as he made it sound. To her knowledge, Cassandra hadn’t yet successfully reversed the rite—she had studied it _academically_. Icis realized she was breathing raggedly and put her hand over Cullen's forearm for support before sitting back down on the settee.

"I know this is far from a perfect solution—it's risky, certainly—but what else would you have me do?" asked Cullen, sitting next to her.

Icis considered for a minute, trying to calm her pulse. She couldn’t think of any alternatives. "Let's contact her now."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see I'm taking some liberties with the mechanics of tranquilization... this will continue in the subsequent chapters.


	26. A Delivery from Hossberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair receives an unusual package on behalf of Bella. Everyone finally knows the truth, but they have different ways of handling it.
> 
> Note: There are letters in this chapter. I have enclosed them in brackets to separate them from the rest of the text, since my formatting options here are pretty limited. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's tendency in his relationship with Bella has been to act like a kid--he throws a tantrum, makes bad decisions, and then retreats into a childlike emotional state. Not that it's really his fault--they were so young when they first got together that they regress in each other's presence.
> 
> He might be in a relationship in the future where he doesn't do that... just saying. ;)

**Alistair**

The afternoon light streamed in through the inn window. From his seat at the small writing desk, Alistair was directly in a beam of warmth. He felt like a cat, sleepily sunning itself. Growing up, he was never allowed to have pets. Arl Eamon didn’t allow them in Castle Redcliffe—even Mabari, which were ubiquitous in Ferelden. And, ironically, chantries were not home to cats or dogs, even with the constant rat problems. By the time he finally had a home of his own, he found himself a litter of cats and brought them into his bedroom to live. He hid them there for a month before Anora noticed the mewing. He wondered what had become of them now that he was gone. He hoped some good servants would have continued to care for them.

Just then, a messenger came around the corner and looked into their empty room. Alistair was the only person there at present, but surely, the boy could tell that there were several people staying there—their things were strewn all over the room.

"Can I help you?" asked Alistair.

"Yes, ser," stammered the messenger, "I'm looking for Bella Surana. I have a package from her contacts in Hossberg." He whispered the name of the town as though it were cursed.

"You can give that to me," said Alistair dismissively.

The boy looked relieved to get rid of the package, "Good, here you go then." With that, he was gone.

Alistair inspected the parcel. It was a small leather-bound book, enclosed in parchment. When he unwrapped it, he found it emblazoned with the templar code of arms. His mouth felt dry— _why would the templars be mixed up in this_? Its pages were held shut with a small leather string. Gingerly, he untied the knot and opened the book. It was badly damaged and worn, but he could make out the words.

 

            **[** Dear Bella, this is torture. For all these months, I have wondered every day if you are all right and now… to see you and know that you don’t remember me— _us_ —it's heartbreaking. Nevertheless, I need to explain what has happened—at least for my own sanity. It is also my hope that reading this account will explain what I am about to do, and hopefully bring back some of your memory. **]**

 

Alistair dropped the book onto the desk, horrified. _Who_ was this from and _what_ had happened to Bella's memory?

Alistair rounded the corner and found her pacing in the hall. "I need to talk to you," he said earnestly.

Bella looked up at him sincerely, "I'm glad. I wanted to talk to you too. What I did—it was stupid… I _should_ have told you—"

"Stop," said Alistair seriously, "That will have to wait. There is something very important we need to look at—now."

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

Looking at the tiny book with the templar insignia, Bella felt a strange sensation in her gut. The book was familiar in some way, but she couldn't place it.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's for you… It's a sort of letter," he said. He looked worried. "You had better read it."

Bella opened the book somewhere in the middle and began reading:

 

            **[** Dear Bella, it’s been a month since my memories returned in full. They filtered in like snapshots of time—at first they seemed like dreams, but now I remember the sum and it is _significant_. I miss you every day… I hope that I can think of a way to help you. In the meantime, I’m going to write out everything that happened to us—for you, for posterity, and for preservation of the truth, should something happen to me. **]**

 

The more she read, the dizzier she felt. It was like trying to recall a dream long after waking up—almost impossible, but the feelings were still there. Before moving into the next section that began, _And that brings me to now,_ Bella laid down on the bed next to the desk and looked up at the ceiling.

"Alistair, _who_ wrote this?" she asked in disbelief.

"It doesn't say… maybe there's a name in the back or in a margin… let me see?" he asked, reaching out for the book.

Bella handed it to over without looking at him.

Alistair paged through the book from back to front, looking for any identifying characteristics. Something fell out from between two pages near the back. He stood and crossed to Bella suddenly. "Isn't this Reimas?" he asked.

Bella looked at the drawing. It _was_ Reimas—nearly nude and reclining in a small tent with unmistakable folds and tears in its ceiling.

"Alistair, I—" she interrupted herself, “…I think I drew this.”

“Maker…” breathed Alistair. He handed the drawing to her. The edge of the paper sliced into her fingertip. The second her blood touched the paper, fade wisps erupted from the page and plunged into her, traveling up every vein toward her heart. Her entire body burned alive with magic. Her knees buckled. She felt Alistair catch her just seconds before she hit the floor.

"Alistair, it's _true_ —it's all true," stammered Bella in dismay. "We need to get Morrigan. Something is _deadly_ wrong."

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Alistair listened as Bella read the first section of the book to Morrigan. Hearing it again didn't make it seem any more real. At a midpoint, Morrigan asked a variety of questions.

"Bella," he said softly. "Read the rest."

Morrigan looked at Bella expectantly and she sighed.

 

            **[** This whole time, I have been sending reports on your activity back to Weisshaupt, as a spy. It was the _only_ way to be near you. I have left out key details whenever possible and fed the First Warden misinformation at every turn, but I fear it won't be enough. I'm sure he has realized his compulsion did not work on me—he would never have come for us as a dragon otherwise. I am still not sure _why_ I was spared the memory loss that you suffered. Some days I curse the Maker that I have these memories while you don’t. **]**

             **[** If you are reading this, it means I am already dead. I am not sure of the exact circumstances of my murder, but let me tell you this: I have learned that there is only _one_ way to avoid ultimately tainting the old god soul within you—you have to journey to the Feral Fjords and jump into the lava pits—even your death in _any other circumstance_ will trigger the tainting of the old gold soul. You will have to be careful, though, because the First Warden's plans for you also end in that thaig… Once you get inside, the Old God will awaken again and avoiding what you have been programmed to do will be almost _impossible_. You are incredibly clever and I'm sure you'll think of a way out of this, but do not underestimate First Warden Avery—he is brutality incarnate. **]**

             **[** I’m so sorry, Bella. I hope that you find a way out of this. I'll be waiting for you by the maker's side. –R **]**

 

Alistair felt sick. He didn't even know how to _begin_ to process this. Bella was carrying the soul of an old god? _Which one?_

"Morrigan," said Alistair, trying to keep the panic from his voice, "Can you get _it_ out of her? Flemeth took one out of Kieran, right?” He unintentionally whispered his son’s name. “ _He's_ okay…"

Morrigan shook her head, "It was very different. Kieran was _born_ tainted because he is your progeny. He was able to passively coexist with the soul—that took _planning_ …" Morrigan paused and gritted her teeth, "Bella is slated to become the next Archdemon."

Alistair felt like vomiting. Before this very moment, he had not realized that archdemons were _people_ —now that he considered it, it made sense, but he liked to think of them as something much more foreign and sinister. Furthermore, why was Morrigan so eerily calm?

"There must be _something_!" he yelled dejectedly, before dropping his head into his hands.

Bella looked up at him with equal parts anxiety and resignation. He wondered how someone so _lovely_ and _good_ could be harboring the makings of an archdemon. How ironic that she was destined to become the very thing she had given up her life to fight.

“Let’s walk,” said Alistair abruptly.

Bella nodded and followed him outside. They had a long history of walking away from tense situations to regroup. In his estimation, there was probably _some_ way out of this—not an easy way, but a way.

“Do you remember _everything_ now?” asked Alistair once they were outside.

Bella nodded.

“And?” probed Alistair.

“…I’m not sure what to think. Once I took in the soul, I was alive, _new_ …" explained Bella.

“Are you experiencing that now?” asked Alistair.

“No,” answered Bella, “I think the spell I'm under took that away. It’s like the soul is dormant now—I can only remember scenes.”

He wondered if there was a way to _keep_ it inactive indefinitely. He took her hand in his as they walked through the town square. He didn’t think before he did it—he had never been so simultaneously furious and terrified.

“So what if we just go home?” asked Alistair.

Bella stopped short and tugged his hand back, “What?”

He turned to face her, pulling her closer to him by the arm, “If we just go home— _never_ go to the Feral Fjords—maybe we can avoid you triggering whatever you’re programmed to trigger…” he postulated.

Bella squinted, considering.

“Clearly, the reason you _thought_ we were doing this was fabricated,” he was talking fast now and getting louder, “There was _never_ a cure for the calling. Who knows—maybe the First Warden planted the evidence that Valya found in the first place.”

Bella was visibly grinding her teeth.

He continued, now nearly shouting, “I know you don’t want to admit it, but isn’t it _possible_? He is _so_ set on starting another Blight and acquiring power… There isn’t anything I’d put past him.”

Bella suddenly made intense eye contact. “Alistair— ** _there’s no cure_**.”

“I know,” he said quickly, “that’s what I just said.”

“Then I’m going to die anyway— _we both are_ ,” said Bella. She looked frenzied.

Alistair shook his head. He pulled both her palms into his chest and held them tighter than he meant to. This line of reasoning was leading somewhere he couldn’t _stand_ for it to go.

“—so if I’m going to die,” she continued, “why shouldn’t I take down this old god soul with me? I’ll throw myself in the lava pit, just like Reimas said I should.”

Alistair thought that was ridiculous. While he tried to decide how to respond, he considered how _different_ their world views must be. Above all else, he wanted to _survive_. As a Grey Warden, he knew he couldn’t _forever_ , but he certainly wouldn’t throw himself into a pit and die prematurely.

“If you do that, then we have no chance of being together,” he said quietly. It was the first time in months that he’d considered if they would have a future together. The thought was so deeply embedded in his psyche that the words fell out of his mouth before he had a chance to inspect them.

“This is bigger than _us_ ,” said Bella more quickly and dismissively than he thought appropriate.

“Is it?” now he was livid, “Maybe you would just prefer to be ‘with Reimas in the afterlife’—whatever that means.” He knew this was stupid and petty and had no bearing on the situation, but his chest was stinging and he said it before he could stop himself.

Bella rolled her eyes, “I can’t _believe_ you’re making this about _you_.”

“How could I, Bella?” he spit the words like venom, “Nothing you do is _ever_ about me.”

“Come on, Alistair,” she sighed and stepped away from him to sit on a tree stump.

Alistair knew he should stop talking, but he _couldn’t_ , “You know, when I first started reading that damn journal I thought I might _finally_ understand why you never contacted me—you had your memories wiped out, or you were being controlled, or _something_." He raised his hands in the air in a wild, aggressive, gesture, "But no! It turns out, you weren’t _inhabited_ by anything sinister until you had already been gone for two _entire_ years!” He started walking toward the woods on the outskirts of town.

“I thought about you the entire time!” shouted Bella as she pursued him.

Some passing townspeople stared at them and scurried into their homes. Alistair hit the ground hard with each step as he entered the woods. He intentionally put space between them.

“That clearly isn’t true,” said Alistair, exhaling sharply. “You were sleeping with someone else.”

Bella’s eyes widened and she ran up to him, incensed, “so—were— _you_!” she punctuated with each long stride. "As recently as a few weeks ago, I might add!" she yelled.

Alistair and Bella stood face to face in the middle of this foreign wood, ready to tear each other apart. They breathed in tandem, hissing and panting in equal measure. They had walked so far outside of town that darkness was all around them and the stars were the brightest light. He was _incredibly_ angry at her, and yet, in this moment considered everything—all these messes, all the misunderstandings, and all the danger. Gripping both sides of her face, he kissed her hard. Bella tried to pull away at first, but within seconds she was crumpling handfuls of his tunic in her fists.

Alistair picked up Bella around the waist and pushed her back against a tree. She gasped when she hit it—a bit _too_ hard. He bit the nape of her neck and frantically pulled her shirt off over her head. He didn’t dare stop for a second, because if he did he knew they would both be yelling or crying or—even worse— _not_ speaking. He enveloped her in his arms and willed his mind to be _silent_.

 

* * *

 

**Midnight**

**Bella**

“I'm sorry,” said Bella. She lazily trailed her fingertips across Alistair’s chest.

He smiled, “I'm sorry too.”

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the stars, “I’m still going to die, though.” She waited for him to respond, but when he didn’t, she continued, “Someday…”

Alistair turned onto his side in the soft grass and draped a huge arm across her stomach, “Someday, but _not_ now…?”

“I suppose not,” she said dreamily. “But what _am_ I going to do? I can’t very well just go on with my life. I have no idea what the trigger is… I could accidentally activate the spell and cause a Blight.”

Alistair kissed her nose and forehead and the point of one ear.

“I mean, doing _nothing_ isn’t really an option, is it?” she continued, looking past his face at the stars.

“I don’t know," he gripped her chin between his finger and thumb to compel eye contact, "You know what _I_ want to do?” he asked with the tone of voice that meant he was about to tell a joke.

Bella decided to play along, “What?”

“I think we should go _away_. You, me, Morrigan, Kieran, and Valya. None of us have any family, so we won’t be missed. Let’s go find a town where no one will recognize us and start a little life. We could have a farm,” he said.

Bella laughed, “You would be a _hilarious_ farmer.”

Alistair smiled and leaned over her face, “what do you mean? I could farm…”

“Oh my goodness, Alistair,” Bella almost choked on her laugh, “you can barely even pick up after yourself, let alone raise livestock and plant things.”

He looked incredulous, “I have done quite well traveling around with you all these years.”

Bella’s face softened and she cupped his cheek with her hand, “you’re a wonderful warrior, but I think farming might be just a bit too _advanced_ for you.”

He laughed and rolled her onto him in one move.

Bella rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart beat. His skin was smooth and soft next to her cheek. She closed her eyes and didn’t dare open them. As soon as they rejoined the group, she would have to devise a plan for _handling_ this situation and she suspected where it would lead her—to a pit of lava. This whole conversation was a _lie_. As soon as the euphoria of this moment dissipated, she would be willing—though not entirely _ready_ —to make the ultimate sacrifice.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” said Alistair. He ran his palm over the back of her head. “I'm not angry at _you_. I'm angry that you are in danger… I’m angry that someone did this to you.”

“I understand,” said Bella without lifting her head.

“…and I’m _jealous_ ,” continued Alistair bashfully, “I know I have absolutely no right to be—”

Bella scoffed, “ _you sure don’t_ …” she paused, “…but I understand it. Our relationship has _always_ been complicated… I used to have this really vivid daydream where you finally resigned to your life and had two children with Anora.” She raised her head and rested her chin on his sternum.

Alistair looked at her sideways, “With _Anora_? Was that a daydream or a day-nightmare?”

She laughed, “Oh stop. Anora is _fine_ … I guess... The point is, the whole thing made me really jealous, even though _I_ was the one who stopped contacting you…" her voice drifted off and her gaze settled lazily somewhere over Alistair's shoulder.  "Your kids were really cute, though. Blonde hair, big brown eyes—a girl and a boy.”

Alistair smiled out of the corner of his mouth, “If I were going to have children, I think I'd like them to be brunettes, he said pointedly stroking her hair.”

Bella felt a little twinge of sadness. A flash of dark brown hair, like curtains around noble eyebrows and a broken nose— _Reimas_. Bella squinted into the memory, trying to see its features in her reminiscence.

Alistair looked curious, “can you tell me more about the daydream?”

“Why?” asked Bella, focusing her eyes on him again.

“I don’t know… it’s something simple, I guess. We don’t usually _do_ simple,” he answered.

Bella laughed, “Well, I only just remembered it—it came back to me with all the other memories from that time period—so let me think.” She scratched her head in a caricature of ‘thinking.’ “Well, they were about 6 and 4, I’d say. The girl was older…”

Alistair was smiling like a school child.

“…and you _obviously_ loved them. They had miniature thrones in Denerim’s great hall,” she continued.

Alistair grinned, “I don’t think that’s a thing… miniature thrones…”

“Probably not,” said Bella, “but this is _my_ daydream, so it’s fair game.” She gently tousled his hair and brushed his stubble with the back of her fingertips.

Alistair laughed, but abruptly went silent, “Do you think we’ll ever get back there?”

Bella’s internal monologue immediately said _no_ , but she resisted the urge to blurt it out. “…I think there are a lot of other places we’ll need to go first," she answered evasively.

“Well,” said Alistair, “If we do, I’m going to tell Anora she can go on being queen, but I won’t hide you anymore.”

Bella’s eyes narrowed, “what do you mean? Anora always knew about us.”

“I mean _everyone_ ,” said Alistair with resolve, “we’ll go to parties together, meet heads of state. Walk the grounds hand in hand…” he trailed off, clearly envisioning an idyllic world that Bella knew would _never_ exist.

“That would be wonderful,” said Bella settling back into his chest.

“It _will_ be,” said Alistair. He squeezed her ribcage in a hug that was almost too tight.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Morning**

**Alistair**

Alistair awoke to someone standing over him. The sunlight streaming through the tree canopy was blinding and he wasn't sure where he was for a moment. As he looked up at the fierce face in silhouette above him, he realized he was still in the woods and Bella was still next to him, asleep.

"Wake up!" said Morrigan.

Alistair scrambled to cover himself and disrupted Bella in the process. As the two of them sat up, he stammered, "What is it? What's going on?"

Morrigan threw his tunic at him from across the clearing and shielded her eyes with her hand in a mocking gesture. "I've seen quite enough of you for one _lifetime_ , Alistair."

He scowled, but laughed under his breath.

Once he and Bella were dressed, she continued, "Fiona contacted me this morning. Icis has called the new Divine to Skyhold for 'assistance'. I suspect that means she came to our same conclusion and is attempting to fix whatever damage she did in Hossberg."

Bella and Alistair looked at each other with equal parts horror and relief.

Morrigan continued, "We need to get back there—now."

Bella blinked, "what?!"

Morrigan rolled her eyes glibly, "Well we can't very well continue on to the Feral Fjords now that we know about your _situation_."

Bella looked down at the ground, embarrassed. Alistair put an arm around her and scowled at Morrigan. Even though he agreed with her, he didn't like the tone she was taking with Bella. "Morrigan, stop," he said quietly. "You've made your point… and I agree with you. We need to go back."

Morrigan nodded, "There is only _one_ problem—I cannot bring Kieran back there."

Alistair bit the inside of his lip, "it's not safe…"

"I agree…" continued Morrigan, "And based on Bella's situation, he is not necessarily any safer with us. I think it's time to enact our plan, Alistair—take him to Denerim…"

Bella looked at Alistair with an expression that smacked of pity.

"I'm reticent to leave him, but I've asked Fiona to meet us there as well," continued Morrigan.

"I understand," said Alistair, resigned. “Where will Valya go?”

“She won’t like it, but I think she should stay in Denerim as well,” said Bella. “I don’t think bringing her back to Skyhold has any advantage.”

"All right then," said Morrigan abruptly, "I trust you'll tidy yourselves up before you see the children… But do hurry." She transformed into her usual crow, spouting black feathers through the trees.

Alistair felt like his feet were glued to the ground. "I suppose this is for the best," he said once they were alone.

Bella nodded and began to walk back toward town. He followed a few steps behind, silently imagining a family reunion that he knew was fiction. His mother would hug him when she saw him; they would exchange a look of mutual understanding. Kieran would sit on a little throne in Denerim's great hall—just like Bella's daydream. The only person missing was her…


	27. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Icis cement their plans while Bella makes a secret one of her own.
> 
> Note: another letter, hence more brackets. [ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... so... excited...!
> 
> (to show you what comes next...)

**Skyhold**

**Cullen**

It had been a week since Icis agreed to bring Cassandra to Skyhold. In that time Cullen had also arranged for Bella and Morrigan to abandon their trip to the far north. He wasn't sure what had made them agree.

His office desk was a mess of papers this morning. Coordinating for a sitting Divine to visit _anywhere_ was a feat, let alone Skyhold. Because Skyhold was not part of any nation, it did not have the same level of security that the Chantry demanded for a Divine. Cullen had assured everyone that he would be personally responsible for Cassandra during her visit, but apparently that wasn't good enough for the Clerics. Cassandra herself had vouched for him, but they were frustratingly inflexible. Cullen hated bureaucrats.  A knock at the door reminded him of what he was doing.

"Come," he said gruffly.

Icis came around the corner, her expression quizzical.

"Sorry to interrupt you," she said, "I just wanted to talk about some of the _plans_ …"

"Of course," he said crossing to the front of the desk to meet her, "Cassandra will be arriving with a veritable _caravan_ of Clerics in two days. Around the same time, I am expecting Morrigan and Bella."

Icis raised an eyebrow, "What role do _they_ have in this?"

"I'm not _sure_ , frankly," said Cullen as he wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, "Fiona says they are absolutely essential, though, especially since she won't be here."

Icis' eyes flickered up from the floor, "Where is Fiona going?"

"To Denerim," he said plainly, "She didn't say why."

Icis was frowning.

"You needn't worry, Cassandra is confident that the procedure will work—" said Cullen, trying to assuage her fears.

"How confident can she be?" asked Icis, laughing darkly, "No one has done this since—maybe _ever_?"

Cullen pursed his lips. "…I want you to know something," he said, taking her hands, "I am _committed_ to this." He looked her squarely in the eye and let his words' gravity sink around them. "We are going to _fix_ you."

Icis looked back at him unblinkingly and eventually nodded. "I'll check in with you later," she said, pulling her hands away and smoothing her coat absently.

Cullen watched her leave.

 

* * *

 

**Denerim Gates**

**Bella**

The smell of Ferelden was unmistakable. People in Orlais described it as "the smell of wet dog," but Bella liked it. Growing up there, she had grown to think of it as the smell of _home_. As soon as they entered the country, she began to get nostalgic. It had been years since she saw Ferelden… and just a few _days_ ago she had planned never to see it again. When Morrigan insisted they bring Kieran and Alistair home, she hadn't put up much of a fight. She tried to think of a way to leave the group and go to the Feral Fjords on her own, but she suspected Morrigan would have magically knocked her out and Alistair would have carried her unconscious body back to Denerim anyway.

"Beautiful isn't it?" said Alistair, filling his lungs with a loud breath.

She smiled.

Valya was showing Kieran a tiny barrier spell. She was fade weaving a blue orb in his hand and letting him try to squish it. It kept bouncing back into shape, though. He was laughing. It was a rare chance for such a solemn child to be happy. Bella had a feeling that his happy days were going to become more numerous, though.

"We're nearly there," said Morrigan absently when Bella came up next to her.

"Are you worried about leaving Kieran?" asked Bella.

Morrigan looked back at him, thinking, "Not really; he is a resourceful boy and he will have a father and a grandmother here…" she trailed off, "I've _told_ him, you know."

Bella's eyes widened, "really?"

Morrigan raised a finger to her lips, "Not too loud. I've told Kieran the truth, but it is completely up to him if he would like to tell Alistair that he knows. I've assured him that he has agency in this decision."

Bella was shocked. "What do you think he will do?"

"I think he will settle into being a prince," said Morrigan. "Not because he cares for things as _trivial_ as the line of succession, but because he's a boy who knows how to carve himself a safe space in a brutal world."

"Alistair will take wonderful care of him," said Bella confidently.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, "Always so _supportive_ of him, aren't you?" she laughed.

 

* * *

 

At the city gates, Bella realized how ragged she must appear. The guards on the walls didn't even look at her directly. When she _left_ this city people threw rose petals at her feet and asked her to bless their children. How long did it take to forget a hero?

Alistair strode up to the guard on the right and called, "Excuse me, could we get these gates open?" He smiled coyly.

The guard shot his nose up in the air, "Sorry, ser, our Queen Anora has sealed the gates for the time being—bandits about—you understand, I'm sure."

Alistair shot Bella a sideways glance. He loved showing off. "Well, you can tell Queen Anora that you didn't let her husband into the gates then—he might be trying to rob the place, after all."

The guard looked at him incredulously at first, appraising his features. Then he looked at Bella and recognition began to dawn on his face. Turning purple with embarrassment, he motioned to the other guard to open the gate, "Your Majesty, I didn't realize—so many people on the road, after all…" he sputtered.

Alistair waived his hand at the guard with a royal flair that Bella found hilarious, "Don't worry. I will tell Anora you've been diligent in your duties."

Kieran and Valya laughed quietly together as they passed the gates. Alistair led them through the square, pointing to shops and taverns as they went—Valya and Kieran had never seen this great city, realized Bella.

"This is where Bella and I first took _King_ Alistair to a tavern—he was very sheltered before that…" Morrigan said, laughing. Clearly, this piece of information was a joke for the others, rather than an informational piece for Kieran. Bella smiled at Alistair, whose good mood was persisting nevertheless.

At the castle entrance, each guard bowed in turn as their group passed. It had been so long since Bella had this type of greeting that she felt odd—like her every move was being scrutinized by the pairs of eyes following her.

"What do you think Anora will say when she sees us?" asked Bella quietly.

"Probably something polite, but not _nice_ ," answered Alistair wryly.

Bella smiled and took a deep breath before opening the left-hand throne room door. Alistair pulled on the right one with equal force and they both swung out with a loud crack.  Anora was sitting on a _single_ throne at the head of the room. Where she had put Alistair's throne was anyone's guess. This type of behavior was typical for her—after all, she had wanted to rule alone so badly she threatened to behead Alistair before their compulsory nuptials. When they were within feet of her, Bella hinged forward at the waist and Morrigan bowed her head— _barely_. Valya and Kieran followed suit. Alistair remained upright, however, which was technically correct, but also a gesture Anora didn't seem to appreciate.

"How wonderful to see you, dear husband," she called out to him in a show of good humor.

Bella knew this was for the scattered nobility milling about in the room.

"You have been absent so long I feared something _terrible_ had befallen you," she said with a smile that conveyed nefarious intent.

Bella's skin crawled when she had to talk to Anora. She was the type of ruler that Bella hated—beholden to the whims of nobility and landowners, hungry for power, and _ruthless_.

"We have traveled extremely difficult roads to reach Denerim this quickly," said Bella suddenly. "I would appreciate the opportunity to retire to my quarters."

Bella couldn't believe she interrupted Anora—usually she was much more discrete in her feelings. But today, she didn't see the point. This was her _last_ trip to Denerim and she was going to do what she pleased.

Anora glared at her for just a second before regaining her composure, "I'm afraid your _quarters_ have been repurposed for the good of the castle, but I’m sure we'll be able to find a place for you in the east wing."

Bella inhaled sharply. The 'east wing' was where the servants slept. She had been back in the castle for less than ten minutes and already was being discriminated against—she remembered why she used to cover her ears. "It's no problem, your Majesty, I'm sure most of my things are still in Alistair's chambers," she said loudly enough that the scattered nobles gasped and whispered.

Bella smiled and strode out of the room without looking back. A few more gossips whispered fervently in her wake. Her face was hot, but she didn't want to give Anora the satisfaction of knowing she rattled her. Morrigan, Valya and Kieran followed her. As she got further down the hall, she heard Alistair re-arranging the throne room's furniture. No doubt, he had found his chair. _Good for him_ , she thought.

 

* * *

 

"That was _brave_ ," said Alistair with a look of incredulity.

Bella was haphazardly throwing things out of her pack onto his bed.

"Thanks," she said stiffly, "I've just been through too much to take that kind of treatment from her anymore."

"I understand," he said.

Bella felt raw. "It's bad enough we didn't imprison her after the Landsmeet, but the way she treated me for the seven years I lived here was _ghastly_. I'm done," she slammed her dirty boots down on the hearth and pushed the hair out of her eyes capriciously.

Alistair looked a bit alarmed, "Hey… it's okay," he came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. "I understand how you feel," he said gently, "she is _terrible_ , but she will soften once she gets used to having you here…"

She thought she might suddenly cry. "Alistair," her voice was strained and choked, "she's not going to get used to me."

Alistair turned her around and leaned down to look her in the eye, "What do you mean?"

She broke away from him and went to sit on the canopy bed. The duvet was smooth and freshly pressed; the down pillows had been fluffed. Inside she screamed, _Alistair, I'm going to die and there is nothing we can do about it!_ But she didn't say anything.

Alistair sat down next to her and pushed her torso back until they were both flat, staring at the canopy.

"You know," he said, in typical Alistair-style non sequitur, "When you were away, I used to write to you almost every day. I sat right there at that writing desk," he pointed to his desk near the fireplace. "Sometimes, I would get very frustrated, and fling myself back on this bed—just like this. And then I would close my eyes and imagine you were next to me…" he looked at her and smiled, "and now you are."

Bella breathed in deeply through her nose and let her vision blur.

"So Anora _will_ get used to you," he said finally, "not because she is a good person or because she will see the 'error of her ways,' but because I am going to make it _impossible_ for her to mistreat you."

He kissed her forehead and then jumped out of the bed.

"I have so many things to arrange," he approached the door, "See you tonight?"

Bella nodded. When he was gone, she approached his writing desk. Although he hadn't been home in ages, his desk was neat and recently dusted. All his parchment was organized, as were his quills and inkwell.

 

            **[** Dear Alistair, by the time you read this letter, I will be gone. I need to return to Skyhold to help Icis and after that, I will _finish_ this. I know you think there is some other way, but there _isn't_ —I can feel it. The greater good requires my death. And I already cheated death once—I should have died up there on Fort Drakon. Morrigan gave us another decade, but it's time to restore balance. You're a wonderful king and you'll be a wonderful father. Remember how good you are on the inside and act from _there_. —Bella. **]**

 

Bella folded the letter gingerly and placed it in her pocket. She needed to hold onto this letter until the last possible moment—long enough that he couldn't come after her. She needed to make it to the lava pits before he even knew what happened.

 

Continuing her unpacking, Bella dumped her bag upside down to spill its remaining contents onto the bed. Out fell the tiny leather-bound book with the templar insignia. Bella paged through it. Entry after entry began with "Dear Bella,". How could she have forgotten a woman who loved her enough to write to her every day for months? Bella squinted at the handwriting—slanted and delicate. The words were not flowery—they were succinct and poignant. Although it felt like wading through quicksand, Bella tried to pull the memories out of her subconscious.

Long brown hair, thin branching neck, deep brown eyes— _these_ details she had recalled before. What she found anew was _humor_ —Reimas' entries were darkly comical. She wrote about the recruits at Weisshaupt—many of whom Bella remembered. There was beak-nose-Bill, whose snoring kept all the recruits awake. Hanna from Orlais who was _so_ used to wearing a mask she invented a Grey Warden themed one during her first week. Bella laughed. Reimas must have really _known_ her—only someone who did would recognize which details Bella would _want_ to remember.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

**Skyhold**

“Do you think it will hurt?” she asked, looking into her vanity mirror.

Cullen mustered a weak laugh, “Magic always hurts _me_ , so probably…”

Icis smiled out of the corner of her mouth, “Very funny… I think it will hurt too, but I won’t care about it, then; will I?” Inopportune humor was the only way to keep from sobbing.

“I suppose not,” said Cullen darkly.

Icis knew that tranquility left the mage emotionless. Whether she was in pain or not, she likely wouldn’t react to it. That was a small comfort, actually.

Icis stood up from the vanity and turned to face Cullen. He had been spending a lot of time in her chambers recently, she realized. It had all been business-related, but its familiarity was comforting.

“If Cassandra can’t fix me,” she began tentatively, “What do you intend to _do_?”

Cullen rubbed his neck nervously, “It _will_ work.”

Icis took a step closer to him to force eye contact, “but _if_ it doesn’t?”

Cullen looked back at her, his eyes darting around her face, “What would _you_ have me do?”

“Kill me,” said Icis coldly.

Cullen’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. Icis knew he had extensive experience with mages and she doubted she had to explain her reasoning. To live cut off from the fade, to never dream, to be an automaton—it would be _worse_ than death.

“Can you promise me?” she asked, her voice was hoarse.

Cullen looked uncertain, but he nodded anyway.

Icis held their gaze a moment longer before forcing a smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to it, right?”

Cullen’s skin looked rather grey, but he attempted a to return the smile nevertheless. “I meant to tell you earlier, I have selected a group of Templars and mages to perform the procedure. I wanted to be there myself, but since I don’t take lyrium anymore… I wouldn’t be any help.”

Icis was thankful that he had recovered from his addiction, but she wished he could be there with her. “Thank you for doing this.”


	28. Tranquil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Morrigan leave Denerim to help Icis and Cullen at Skyhold. Alistair begins to feel like a dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an unusual chapter, in that we get all four of the major character perspectives.

**_Denerim Gates_ **

**Alistair**

“Are you all set?” Alistair called.

“Just about,” said Morrigan inspecting their packs. “I appreciate all the supplies, thank you.”

Bella was inattentively fiddling with her coat buttons. Alistair looked at her, but she seemed to be looking straight through him.

“Missing me already?” he asked playfully.

Bella’s eyes focused, as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

Alistair shifted his weight uncomfortably, “I wish you wouldn’t go.”

Bella met his gaze and looked at him disapprovingly, “you know I have to… I’m not going to send Morrigan alone.”

Alistair bit his lip, “I know.”

Bella made a strange expression, but Alistair ignored it.

He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her head in one of his hands. He felt her nervousness and despair like a wave as soon as they touched.

“I can _feel_ that, you know,” he said into her ear, “what is the matter? Maybe I can help…”  Bella lifted her face toward his.

“It’s okay. You’re doing everything you can,” she said, smiling faintly.

Morrigan called over to them, “Can we get a move on? We won’t be gone long…” she rolled her eyes impatiently.

Alistair smiled down at Bella and released her from his tight grip. “I’ll see you soon.”

He watched as Morrigan and Bella picked up their things and waved goodbye.

 

When he got back to his chambers, he found Valya and Kieran sitting in his study. He had insisted that they both be moved to rooms directly next to his. Anora was annoyed, of course, but he promised Morrigan he would take care of Keiran and he was feeling more responsible for Valya every minute. Now that he thought about that, it was sort of stupid—she was as old as he was during the Blight—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed protection from the world.

“What are you reading?” he asked, leaning over Kieran’s shoulder.

Kieran looked up at him placidly, “An account of the Fifth Blight.”

Alistair grimaced, “That’s awfully _dark_ —what made you interested in that?”

Kieran smiled, “all the characters are people I know…”

Valya laughed from the other side of the room without looking up from her own book.

Alistair was feeling paternal now that Morrigan was gone. “That seems _reasonable_ … would you like me to read it to you?” He sat down next to Kieran on the floor.

Kieran looked slightly skeptical, but eventually nodded and handed the book to Alistair. “Start from here,” he pointed to the second paragraph on the page, “it’s the part where you and Bella met my mother in the Wilds.”

Alistair smiled and began reading, “The Hero of Ferelden insisted that they bring Morrigan with them, despite protestations from the Grey Warden Alistair…”

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

At dawn, the view from Skyhold was incredible. Bands of purple and blue kissed the earth miles away while clouds hung in the foothills. The air was crisp and a chilling breeze was floating through the battlements. Icis pulled a thick wool sweater around her shoulders and continued to walk. She wasn’t walking fast. She strolled above each section of the courtyard, appraising the gardens and training grounds. It all looked so _official_. This unfailingly surprised her because she remembered when this entire fortress was a pile of rubble and cobwebs. How _different_ everything was now…

Around the next corner, she caught a glimpse of veilfire in the distance. Squinting, she could see two small shapes approaching the gates—she knew they must be Bella and Morrigan. Cassandra and Vivienne and a whole host of others had arrived two days ago. Despite their impressive numbers, they insisted on waiting for Morrigan and Bella. Icis wasn’t sure what she would _feel_ when she saw them—embarrassment, _regret_? It had been horrible enough to face Vivienne—she expressed her disappointment in Icis with typical Orlesian flair: polite words that shrouded deep affront. Icis retreated into her chambers through her balcony only to find Cullen sitting on her bed.

“Hello?” she smiled.

“I just wanted to tell you that Bella and Morrigan have nearly arrived. One of my scouts spotted them fifteen minutes ago.”

“She must have good eyes,” said Icis with a smile, “I just made out their shapes a minute ago.” She crossed to sit on the bed next to him. Despite her commitment to this plan, she suspected that her days of enjoying jokes and making polite conversation were numbered.

“When they get here,” he continued, “we will begin the rite as soon as possible…” he wrung his hands in his lap.

“I understand,” said Icis, trying to sound calm, “there is no telling how long I have before I start to lose touch, I suppose.” Even in the last few days, she'd had several violent outbursts, one of which resulted in the fiery destruction of Dorian's favorite section of the library.

They sat there looking down at their feet for an uncomfortably long time.

“Are we still in agreement about what you will do if Cassandra cannot cure me?” asked Icis, shattering the silence.

Cullen exhaled audibly and nodded, without looking up.

“Good,” said Icis. It came out as barely a whisper, but they had an accord nevertheless.

“Icis,” said Cullen looking in her direction, “I hope you know how difficult that will be for me—should it become necessary.”

Icis smiled as a tear escaped the corner of her eye, “ _I do_.”

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

For the first time since her memories began to filter back in, Bella had something _else_ to worry about. Once they were apprised of the situation, she was consumed with preparation. The biggest challenge was forcing herself to _do_ it. She had spent her whole life fighting _against_ the rite of tranquility. She considered it barbaric and couldn’t _imagine_ performing it, even on an enemy. The second part of this plan would be harder, though. She talked to Cassandra at length about the spells required to _reverse_ the tranquility rite, but she wasn’t sure she could perform them. Morrigan, with her extensive knowledge of _older_ —more dangerous—magic would prove invaluable in that part.

Bella gathered her notes and crossed the courtyard to the undercroft. They had all agreed that performing both parts of the ritual would be best completed in seclusion. Dagna had graciously moved all her things to another site in exchange for letting her _watch_ the event. Bella found this macabre, but she was willing to oblige. After all, Icis wouldn’t _mind_ once she was tranquil. Bella shuddered before entering the room.

“We’re just waiting for Cassandra and we can begin,” said Cullen solemnly.

Bella nodded and found her place in the circle. Three mages were required for the spell. Morrigan, Bella, and Vivienne would be performing it. They would _also_ be encircled by several Templars. Bella understood _their_ purpose all too well—they were _insurance_. Morrigan nodded at Bella and squeezed her hand.

In the center of the circle, Icis sat cross-legged on the floor. She looked tiny from this perspective, but _not_ powerless. Her eyes still burned with violet fire. Bella wondered if they would dull once the rite was complete.

Cassandra entered the room with a flurry of activity. She was accompanied by three Clerics, each wearing a more ridiculous hat than the last. Bella suppressed a scoff.

“We are ready to begin,” said Cassandra commandingly.

The mages joined hands around Icis while the Templars circled.

 

Two hours later, the circle broke—the ritual was complete. Icis’ forehead was branded and her eyes—while still purple—were missing a spark, just as Bella had feared. As the group disbanded, Icis stood and sedately wandered around the room. She smiled blankly and cocked her head to the side in a hollow gesture of understanding. Eventually, Cullen came to take her back to her room overnight. The real work would now begin—preparing to _reverse_ this travesty.

During the rite, Bella had resorted to dissociation. The procedure was so antithetical to her beliefs that she had to _detach_ in order to do it. At least Icis had made the decision willingly. Normally, those who underwent the rite were forced into the center of the circle despite their shrieks and cries. While living in Ferelden’s circle tower she had heard more than a few mages dragged off to the deepest chambers. She pushed a pillow over her head to muffle their screams. A day or two later, she would see these mages wandering aimlessly through the tower or selling magical items to Templars—the life drained from their eyes. As an adolescent, her nightmares were _filled_ with the faces of the tranquil.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Leading Icis back to her room proved an exceptionally easy task. She followed him wherever he led. Just a light touch on her arm and she turned any direction necessary. Her face was neutral as they entered her chambers. He pulled back the covers of her bed and revealed freshly pressed sheets.

“I thought you might want to rest,” he said nervously.

“Thank you,” she said with a completely flat affect.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked.

“No,” said Icis looking out the window behind him. She turned away from him and immediately crawled under her covers. She closed her eyes and seemed to be instantly asleep. Cullen winced—he _knew_ she wasn’t dreaming.

He staggered back onto her settee. He suddenly regretted every moment he was angry with her and all the distance he'd strategically placed between them. He'd doomed their relationship from the start—he had never been able to reveal himself to her… not in any way that was _meaningful_. He didn't know why.

Now, she was doomed to wander the halls as a shell of her former self unless they could cure her. They _had_ to cure her. He couldn't _stand_ the alternative. As if watching her intellect wither wasn’t torture enough—running her through with his sword: it was _unconscionable_. He dropped his face into his hands and silently wept.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

_Where am I?_

She found herself at the end of a long, dark hallway. The walls were cracked and veins of water seeped through in spots. Her feet were bare and suddenly wet. Moss crept up the walls to the ceiling. There was no discernible light source, but she could see.

_How did I get here?_

A shiver crept up her spine. She had no memory of this place. Where was everyone else?

Walking down the hall, her steps felt disconnected—like she wasn’t really contacting the ground. Her footfalls were nearly silent—an eerie complement to the sewer-like quality this place possessed.

“Hello?” she called. She knew it was futile, but hearing her own voice was somehow comforting. “Is anyone there?” she waited for a response as her own voice echoed down the corridor.

“Well,” she said aloud to herself, “I suppose I’m on my own. If I keep walking this way,” she started to take longer strides, “I’m bound to reach something eventually.”

After what felt like at least five hundred yards she started humming to fill the silence. Every time she stopped to look ahead and behind her, it seemed like she hadn’t moved at all. The walls were the same brown-grey color, the water still surged through in spots, the moss continued to grow.

“What on earth is going on here?” she asked no one. She felt panicked, but not cold or tired or hungry, which seemed odd. “I need to retrace my steps…” She sat down against the slightly wet wall and tried to think back _._

_She was talking to Cullen about…something… something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. They were unhappy with each other. She felt embarrassed, but she agreed anyway. Then she was in the center of a circle! A circle of what? …Mages! But why?_

She pulled her knees up and rested her elbows on them. Her mind was so foggy; there were whole pieces of her life missing.

Just then, she heard something rumble at the far end of the hallway—the direction she was heading _away_ from. She cocked her head to the side and tried to hear. The sound repeated, more like a growl this time. Her pulse quickened. She didn’t know what was making that sound, but she knew she didn’t want to meet it. Standing, she began running down the hall as fast as her legs would carry her.


	29. Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis continues running in the 'other place.' 
> 
> Morrigan, Bella, and Dorian go in to rescue her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is what begins my favorite part of this story... hold on tight!
> 
> (I seem to be publishing these daily now... so you'll see tomorrow!)

**Cullen**

It had been two days since Icis’ transformation and he had yet to leave her side. Cullen had ensured that she could stay in her quarters without interruption. Both mornings, she got up before him and began mechanically tidying the room. He woke to the sounds of dusting and bed making. Each day he would tell her that she didn’t need to do that, that he would help her or that she had staff for that, but she would continue just the same.

In the afternoons, he had tea and lunch delivered to her quarters. He tried to engage her in games or read her stories, but her heart wasn’t in it. She _could_ hold a conversation, but only at the most cursory level. He shouldn’t have been surprised—he had known so many tranquil mages. He lamented his last words to her. “It will be hard for me to kill you,” he internally paraphrased.

_What a ridiculous thing to say. I should have said, “Don’t do this! We’ll find another way!”_

But he _hadn’t_ said that—in fact, the whole thing had been _his_ idea. Bella and the others were going to attempt the reversal tomorrow. If it didn’t work, he would never be able to forgive himself.

In his periphery, Icis bumped into her nightstand and knocked a vase onto the floor—it shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Immediately, she bent over to begin picking them up. Cullen rushed over to stop her, but before he could, she had cut her hand and there was blood streaming from a deep flap of skin. Even this did not stop her, however.

“Icis, please,” he said, pulling her hands away from the glass.

“I need to clean this,” she said, looking confused.

Cullen pulled her over to a water basin on the other side of the room and washed her cuts. “I will send someone up to handle that. Give me your hands, I need to bandage them.” He ripped a long piece of thin white cloth from the edge of her drapes and wrapped it around her bloody hand.

Icis looked at him placidly, “thank you.”

He held onto her hands longer than he had to, studying her face. The look in her eyes told him he was no more familiar to her than a stranger.

“I’m going to get someone to heal that for you—maybe Dorian?” he raised an eyebrow to see if she had an opinion on letting Dorian see her like this, but she didn’t even blink. “Okay, sit right here on the edge of the bed and I’ll be right back.”

 

* * *

 

He raced through the convoluted hallways of Skyhold looking for Dorian. He found him in the library with Caronel.

“Dorian, can I borrow you for a moment?” asked Cullen softly.

Caronel gave Cullen a sideways look. They had been introduced, but only briefly. Cullen knew Caronel was suspicious of Templars—' _ex_ ' or otherwise.

“Of course, Commander,” said Dorian with a smile. He hopped down from his window seat and pecked Caronel’s cheek before falling into step next to Cullen. “What is it?”

“A matter that requires _discretion_ ,” whispered Cullen. “Walk with me.”

On the way to Icis’ quarters, Cullen explained all the details of Icis’ demonic deal and her subsequent tranquility. Dorian looked like he might explode.

“…so I need you to heal her hand,” finished Cullen.

“You’re telling me that one of my _closest_ friends—whom you used to love, by the way—has become _tranquil_ and you want me to heal some simple cut!?” he fumed.

“I _know_ ,” Cullen hung his head, “it’s despicable; but I don’t know what else to do. Bella, Morrigan, and Vivienne are working out the final details in their plan to reverse the rite. They plan to move forward tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” interrupted Dorian, “And no one thought to tell _me_ about this? Being from Tevinter has basically _only one_ advantage—we teach magic that isn’t taught anywhere else!”

Cullen could see his point. “You can talk to Bella about that. Just, _please_ , heal Icis’ hand first.”

Dorian nodded and stepped inside the room.

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

Dorian burst into the undercroft with the force of ten men. He was clearly about to start flaying people if he didn’t get answers. He sidestepped Vivienne, who attempted to intersect his path and stood so close to Bella that she felt like she needed to back up to keep him in focus.

“What were you thinking?!” he yelled. His voice was low and resonant in the hollowness of the undercroft.

“Believe me,” said Bella solemnly, “I would _never_ have done this on my own accord.”

“Then why did you?” asked Dorian venomously.

“They were going to put her through the rite with or without me,” said Bella authoritatively, “I only came because I think I can be instrumental in _reversing_ it.”

“Why?” asked Dorian mockingly, “because you’re a _blood mage_?" He spat the words and the crowd gasped in unison. "That doesn’t mean _anything_ when you’re talking about a magical lobotomy! You’re going to need help.” He straightened and looked around the room. "Thank the Maker I’m here," he muttered.

Morrigan crossed the room deliberately to stand between Dorian and Bella. “There _is_ something you can do…” she said dispassionately.

“What?” snapped Dorian.

“You can replace Vivienne,” she said with quiet intensity. “I have gone over this spell a hundred times and it requires something we three are all willing to give—but _she_ isn't.”

Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth nervously, “What does it require?”

“It requires that we all _travel_ to where Icis is being held and get her back,” said Morrigan.

This sentence fell on Bella with the weight of an anvil. Her mind was racing. ‘Where she is being held.’ _What did that even mean?_ If not to the fade, where else could a consciousness go?

“Where is that, Morrigan?” asked Bella hesitantly.

“I do not know,” said Morrigan barely louder than a whisper, “but, apparently, her soul is locked there. The voices from the well of Mythal won’t allow me to know more, but I have learned how to make the journey.”

Dorian nodded at them both, “I’ll do it.”

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

All Icis did was run. The growling, snarling noise behind her intermittently grew louder. When it did, she ran faster until it blended into the background. No matter how far she traveled, though, the walls were endless and the hallway never changed. There were times when she _wanted_ the snarling thing to catch her. At least then she could stop running.

Today was no different than any other day. She had run for several hours in the morning and now she was sitting against the slightly wet wall, waiting to run again. Every time she sat, she tried to remember her life _before_ the hallway, but the details were becoming hazier. This morning she couldn’t remember the face of her clan’s Keeper— _or her_ _name_. Yesterday, she remembered something about traveling to Skyhold with Alistair, but today she couldn’t even remember _why_ they were together in the first place. She was also getting memories mixed up—people were popping up in places they didn’t belong. Morrigan was doing something with Dorian; Cullen was working with the Divine; Bella was transforming into some kind of dragon-thing— _none_ of it made sense.

Icis sighed as the roaring became louder again. She knew it was time to run, but she didn’t _want_ to. It was harder to care every day. Instead of standing, she listened to the noise. At first, she heard only its gravel. She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the damp wall. It was then, with her eyes closed, that she began to hear another sound— _a voice_.

Shocked, she stood. After some internal deliberation, she began to run _toward_ the sound for the first time. Every step she took brought her closer to the sound and although her gut told her to run the other way she _needed_ to know what it was. Even the _hope_ that a voice could have been shrouded in that growl encouraged her. The distance she had to travel back seemed significantly shorter than the distance she had traveled forward over the last few days. Within minutes she could hear the growling at full volume and between snarls she picked out a man’s voice. It was calling to her! She sprinted until her lungs hurt.

“Icis!!” screamed Dorian from the end of the hall.

She saw his silhouette before she actually recognized his face. Terrifyingly, she couldn’t remember his features even though she knew who he was.

“Dorian?” she stopped running ten feet in front of him. He looked like he had just fallen into the hallway. There was a jagged-looking break in the stone ceiling above his head that was quickly filling in with fast-growing moss.

“Icis!” he yelled, approaching her. She wanted to run to him, but her feet stayed glued to the ground. A deteriorating, _rotting_ , dragon was looming over his left shoulder—growing larger by the second.

“Watch out!!” screamed Icis, stumbling backward into the moss-covered wall.

Dorian looked confused. He looked over his shoulder to where Icis was frantically pointing and didn’t do _anything_. Morrigan appeared on his right.

“Icis,” he said slowly, “are you all right, Dear?” He raised his eyebrows and showed her his palms in a gesture of peace.

Icis fell silent. Her heart was pounding.

“ _Icis_ ,” he began again, “we’re here to rescue you.” He reached out toward her.

Icis still didn’t say anything. She could feel her expression turning to stone.

Morrigan was approaching her now, “Icis, I understand this must be confusing for you,” she said, “you may be losing some of your memories… but _trust_ us; everything will make sense on the other side of this.”

Icis wanted to walk toward Morrigan, but the dragon was also closing in on their group from the other side. Her lip was quivering and she could feel her whole body shaking.  The dragon took three wobbly steps forward and Icis tried to scramble away so quickly, she lost her footing and fell hard onto the stone floor.

Dorian rushed to Icis’ side, “I’ve got you,” he cooed. “Morrigan, what is going on?” he whispered through clenched teeth.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, “I’m not sure… it must be an effect of this place.”

Dorian turned back to Icis, “What are you seeing?”

Icis’ eyes widened; she felt like she was going _insane_ , “there is a dragon behind you!” she whispered in terror.

Dorian and Morrigan looked at each other and then looked at the dragon. The dragon snarled and growled. _This_ was the noise she had been hearing this _entire time_.

“I’ve been running from that thing for _weeks_!” she shrieked.

Dorian put an arm around her and kissed her head, “Darling, you’ve been here for two days and _we’ve_ only been here for an hour.” He smoothed her hair, “I know it must seem like an eternity to you… Bella came with us to get you out.” He pointed at the dragon.

“What?” said Icis, feeling faint. “Where is Bella?”

Morrigan pointed at the dragon again, “Right here, Icis. Right in front of you.” She looked legitimately worried in addition to her usual undercurrent of superiority.

The dragon snarled in the direction of Morrigan and Dorian, who could clearly understand it. Finally Dorian threw his hands up in the air and said, “We can sort this out when we get her back. Let’s handle one problem at a time!”

Morrigan nodded and the dragon growled what Icis took as agreement. Dorian picked Icis up in his arms as Morrigan created a blue, roiling portal in the wall in front of them.

“It will only hold for a second!” yelled Morrigan over the whooshing of the gateway.

As Dorian carried Icis through the swirling haze, everything went black.

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

Morrigan, Bella and Dorian stood over Icis’ body in a circle, looking for signs of life. Icis’ eyes were closed and her lips were slightly blue, but she _was_ breathing—however shallowly. Cullen burst into the room and Bella turned to look at him.

“She’s fine,” said Bella soothingly.

“She doesn’t look _fine_ ,” snarled Cullen.

Morrigan turned sharply, “she _will be_ when I’m done with her. She just needs some rest.”

“And was it successful?” asked Cullen.

“We won’t know that until she wakes up,” said Dorian, still kneeling down next to Icis. He was squeezing her hand so tightly his knuckles were blanched.

Cullen sighed, “I would like to take her back to her room. Would it be possible for you to treat her there, Morrigan?”

Morrigan nodded and Cullen carried Icis away.

 

Back in the guest quarters, Bella breathed deeply for the first time in hours. Inside that _other place_ something had been horribly wrong. Icis saw her as a _dragon_. Dorian had attributed this to her mental state in that ghastly intellectual prison, but Bella thought Morrigan would have put together the pieces. Bella _was_ becoming a dragon—the worst kind. Icis had seen her for what she _truly_ was.


	30. The Good King of Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis finally wakes up and begins processing what she saw in the 'other place.' Bella has a plan to leave. Cullen, Dorian, and Morrigan reunite with Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of activity in this chapter. This is the one marks the beginning of a turning point for the major characters. 
> 
> As always, thank you for all your support! More to come tomorrow! :)

**The Next Day**

**_Skyhold_ **

**Icis**

When Icis finally woke up it was pitch black outside her bedroom window. She started when she heard someone breathing in the room, but relaxed when she realized it was Cullen, asleep on the settee. She remembered more now—the hallway _and_ her life before it. The only thing she _couldn’t_ remember was actually being a tranquil mage. She was relieved about that, though. She didn’t want to know what being cut off from the fade actually _felt_ like. Creeping out of bed, Icis went to the window and looked up at the sky. She realized now that she hadn’t been in the hallway for very long, but it felt like _years_ since she saw anything above her besides stone and moss.

“Icis?” Cullen said groggily.

She turned to meet his gaze and smiled.

“Icis!” he nearly yelled. He jumped up, crossed the room in two steps and swung her into a hug. After two revolutions, he put her down lightly on her tiptoes and looked at her. “Do you _know_ me?”

“Of course,” said Icis. His arms were still around her waist.

“Icis,” he said tenderly, “I promised myself that if you woke up I would be different—I would tell you what I think… what I _feel_ …” he searched the dark corners of the room for words, “I’m _sorry_.”

“What are you sorry for?” she asked.

“Everything,” said Cullen. “I should have _never_ suggested the rite as a solution. It was horrible—you didn’t even _know_ me.”

Icis didn’t say anything.

“And I’m sorry for everything _before_ that. I know we don’t agree on—well, _anything_ , really—but…" he trailed off.

“I understand,” said Icis, breaking away from him and turning back toward the window, “I understand why you did _all_ of it.”

Cullen followed her and looked out the window too.

“I didn’t _know_ you?” asked Icis quietly.

“You knew who I was,” equivocated Cullen, “but it didn’t _mean_ anything. I could have been anyone…” he trailed off.

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you… what I went through on the other side…” said Icis staring into the night.

“Tell me,” he said earnestly.

Icis sat on the edge of her bed and motioned for him to sit next to her. She tried to organize her thoughts into something that made sense—it was almost impossible. Every memory she had was like a snapshot of time—one single fragment that wasn’t necessarily representative of the whole. The only thing she could say for certain was that something was _wrong_ with Bella. Icis _knew_ that part was true—she had been privy to something the others could not see. Unfortunately, this was the _only_ part of the story she could see clearly _and_ the only part she didn’t intend to tell Cullen.

"I'm not sure I can just yet," said Icis softly.

Cullen looked crestfallen.

Without thinking, she shifted to straddle his hips and kissed him hard. She wasn't even sure why she was doing it, but she needed something—something primal, something tangible, something _real_.

 

* * *

 

**A Week Later**

**Bella**

Now that Icis was recovering, it was time to go. Bella devised a plan for slipping out of Skyhold unnoticed. The first step included finding a day when she could rise before the entirety of the fortress. Today was that day. It was nearly four in the morning when Bella peeled herself out of her bed linens. The sky was completely dark and stars dotted its vastness. Bella tried not to look at them—they reminded her of the tent with its folds and tears. Strange, she thought, since originally the folds and tears had reminded her of stars. All of her logic seemed circular these days.

Rounding the corner, she paused to listen. If anyone saw her sneaking out her cover would be blown. The most important element was _time_. She wanted to be at least a full day ahead of anyone who discovered she was missing—especially Morrigan, who possessed the greatest ability to catch her. She regretted not being able to say goodbye to her best friend. She regretted not saying goodbye to _everyone_ , actually. But this was her duty: Grey Wardens swore to end blights and if she could end one before it started, that was _certainly_ her responsibility.

Ten minutes later, she slid out through a servants’ entrance and began to walk faster. She was outside and nearing the walls. If she could just make it into the forest then the hardest part was behind her. She almost smiled—then a twig snapped behind her.

“Where are you going?” asked Icis. Her tone conveyed suspicion.

Bella stopped dead. Before turning around, she fixed her expression into a neutral smile, “Just out for a stroll,” she said lamely.

“With all your belongings?” asked Icis raising an eyebrow.

Bella sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I have to _go_ ,”

Icis took two steps closer to her. Bella felt the threat, but stood her ground.

“ _Where_ are you going?” repeated Icis.

Bella wasn’t sure if she should lie or not. She doubted Icis would stop her either way. If there was one thing Icis had proved in her brief time of tranquility, it was that she had _fortitude_ —she was willing to make necessary sacrifices for the greater good. This was the first time Bella had considered Icis an equal, she realized.

“I’m going to the Feral Fjords,” she finally answered.

“Why?” asked Icis.

“Because I have to _die_ ,” said Bella. It was one of the first times she had said these words aloud. Her throat tightened around them.

“What do you mean?” asked Icis.

“I am turning into an archdemon. There was _never_ a cure for the calling—I was only spelled to believe that.” She said, trying to truncate the ordeal as much as possible. It barely made sense without the context, but she didn’t want to get into it—the sun was beginning to rise over Icis' shoulder.

“I knew something was wrong,” said Icis.

“You _saw_ me—in that other place…” said Bella.

“I did,” said Icis. “I want to help you.”

Bella wasn’t surprised, everyone wanted to _help_ her… they just hadn't considered all the scenarios the hundreds of times Bella had.

“There is no saving me,” said Bella quietly.

“I know that,” said Icis quickly.

Bella was surprised not only at Icis’ ability to accept the inevitable, but also at the haste of her response.

“I’ve gained some insight since returning,” said Icis, “I can see the way things really are. So…what _can_ I do?”

“You can forget you saw me,” said Bella, her eyes darting back and forth across the fortress, “Go back inside and tell no one where I’m going.”

“I _could_ do that,” said Icis calculatingly, “but we both know that Morrigan would find you in a day… I’m going to come _with_ you. I know some shrouding magic—no one will be able to find us if we do not wish them to.”

Bella was a bit bewildered, but time was a luxury she didn't have. “All right. We have to leave _now_ , though.”

Icis pulled a huge sack out from behind a shrub to her left. Icis had planned this—Bella was impressed.

“How did you know I would try to leave this morning?” asked Bella.

“I didn’t,” said Icis with a smirk, “I’ve had that bag packed for a week.”

 

* * *

 

**Later that Morning**

**Cullen**

Cullen tightened his eyelids as a beam of light reached his face. He rolled onto his left side and searched blindly with his fingers for Icis’ warm body. When he didn’t find her he blinked and surveyed the room. She was gone, but he wasn't alarmed. Each morning this week, she had risen before the sun and walking the grounds. He suspected he would find her watching the troops practicing formations or chatting with Dorian in the library. He peeled himself out of bed, tied his pants around his waist, and strode across the room to the windows. Breathing in the fresh air, he smiled down at Skyhold.

His solace was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come,” he said curtly.

Morrigan rushed into the center of the room, a determined look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked, his good mood evaporating.

“Bella and Icis are gone,” said Morrigan.

Cullen felt his face flush. “Where did they go?” he asked stupidly.

Morrigan’s eyes darted back and forth, “I have an _idea_ of what they might be doing, and an idea why, but if I knew the specifics of their whereabouts would I have come to _you_?”

Cullen resented Morrigan’s sarcasm. He had never been fond of people who acted superiorly, even though he considered himself rather superior. In the span of time it took him to formulate a retort to her snarky question, he considered that his personality was full of idiosyncrasies. He internally sighed and decided _not_ to answer her directly.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

Morrigan looked surprised for a fraction of a second, but continued nevertheless, “I need you to send scouts in the direction of Val Royeaux. I think Bella is heading to the Feral Fjords.”

Cullen furrowed his eyebrows, “Why would she be heading all the way back there? I understood that the entire mission turned out to be futile.”

Morrigan pushed a hand through her haphazard-looking hair, “It _was_ —but not for the reasons you know.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It is unlikely that she will go through the city itself, but she may need to gather supplies or meet contacts in its vicinity. If we place scouts around its borders, they may find her.”

Cullen thought Morrigan was being illogical—Bella Surana had been “missing” for _years_. _No one_ could find her—why would some random scouts be able to capture her now? Nevertheless, he wanted to oblige Morrigan. He knew she was _not_ one to be trifled with.

“I’ll send the scouts immediately,” he said. “What will you be doing in the meantime?”

“I’m going to gather some magical items and begin a search of my own,” she answered. “First, though, we _both_ need to contact the good King of Ferelden,” she said with a sneer.

Cullen sighed.

 

* * *

 

**Several Days Later**

**_Denerim Palace_ **

**Alistair**

“Your majesty?” asked a court attendant hesitantly.

Alistair looked up, as if awakening from a dream. He realized he hadn’t been listening for at least the last ten minutes. Now, there was a harried-looking farmer standing in front of him, holding a foal, looking expectant.

Alistair straightened and cleared his throat as if a sudden puff of dust had prevented him from answering, “I will need to confer with my advisers about this… _topic_ ,” he said with a lilt. In his periphery, he saw an attendant roll his eyes. “I mean…” he looked down at his palms feigning intense contemplation, “Yes, of course—whatever you need.” The farmer’s eyes widened. Alistair _hoped_ that this was the right answer—or that “yes” made sense at all. Alistair looked from face to face around the throne room. Each head nodded in turn. He still had no idea what he had agreed to, but apparently that was a passable response.

Excusing himself from the court, he rushed down the halls to his chambers. He was a little embarrassed, but nothing could break his good mood today. He had received a missive earlier that Morrigan was going to be coming to court this afternoon. Normally, seeing Morrigan was _not_ among his favorite activities, but seeing Kieran happy was.

Life as a parent was strange and full of wonder for Alistair—he thought of every day as an adventure. His smile was so large it hurt his face. He rounded the corner and heard Kieran’s voice wafting into the hallway. From the words he could hear, Kieran was explaining the process by which nugs can be trained as mounts—a lot of the details were wrong, but Alistair appreciated the flair with which he told the story.

When Alistair neared the door, which was open ajar, he crouched at its back and listened. He didn’t want to interrupt. Then he heard a man’s voice unexpectedly.

“I think you’ve got some of the details mixed up there,” said the unknown man with a chuckle. The voice was familiar— _who was that?_ Pushing his weight against the door, he nearly fell into the center of a crowd. Dorian, Morrigan, and Fiona were sitting near the fire. Kieran was in the middle of the floor with, _of course_ , Cullen—Alistair’s _favorite_.

Morrigan stood and crossed to Alistair, with a look of concern that Alistair read as distain for Cullen. If she were a Grey Warden he could have intuited, “ _Maker, I know… where does he get off_?” Instead, he just smiled in her direction, but stood directly between Kieran and Cullen.

“We need to talk,” said Morrigan as she closed the door.

“ _All_ of us?” asked Alistair as he clumsily tried to point to Cullen with his eyes.

Morrigan rolled her eyes and sighed, “yes… _all_ of us. Sit.” She pointed to a spot next to Dorian on the settee.

“Alistair,” began Morrigan, “Bella and Icis are _gone_.”

Her words felt like ice on the back of his neck. He wanted to put his arm around Kieran for some reason.

“We believe they are going back to the Feral Fjords,” continued Morrigan, looking from face to face.

Dorian hung his head and sighed, “But why would Icis go _with_ Bella?!” he shouted. “Unless she was _forced_ …” he trailed off.

Alistair almost stood up. Dorian obviously meant that Bella used blood magic to force Icis to follow her. It was as _ridiculous_ as it was insulting.

“Icis isn’t the saint you think she is, Dorian, she did all sorts of things you wouldn’t believe without any outside influence.” Alistair said crossly—and, he had to admit, unfoundedly. Still, it felt good to get angry.

Dorian looked sour, but he didn’t stand. Cullen, on the other hand, looked like he was about to throw something. Alistair realized that Kieran being in the room was like a shield. All the adults would censor themselves—somewhat—because he was there.

Cullen’s face was turning red when he finally spoke up, “Icis was _tranquil_ just a week ago,” his mouth curled around the words like a vice. “She has been through _hell_ since the last time _you_ saw her. I can’t imagine why she would set out with Bella unless there was something larger at stake.”

Alistair knew, of course, that something larger _was_ at stake. He also knew that if Bella _had_ gone to the Feral Fjords—alone or with Icis—she was planning it as a one-way trip. They had to stop her, but in order to do that Alistair and Morrigan would have to tell everyone about Bella’s _condition_. Although some of the story had come out on their original trip, and although there had been _rumors_ , no one else knew what was really going on. He was reticent to share that kind of information with the people in this room.

“Morrigan,” said Alistair suddenly, “can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

He thought Morrigan would object, but she rose silently and opened the door to usher him into the stone hallway outside. He walked in silence for ten feet and then leaned in close to her face.

“Are you _sure_ this is the best move?” he asked. “These aren’t exactly Bella’s _allies_ , you know.”

Morrigan pursed her lips, considering.

Alistair continued, “and _Cullen_? Whose bright idea was it to bring _him_?”

Morrigan looked up at him through her bangs, “I know he’s not your favorite person, but he is highly motivated to find Icis. He gives us an advantage. Instead of looking for one person and her associate, we are _actively_ looking for two people,” she explained, “The same goes for Dorian.”

Alistair had almost forgotten about Dorian, “Yeah, he’s a piece of work too—I had no idea he was so judgmental about blood magic—he’s from Tevinter, for Andraste's sake!”

Morrigan almost laughed, but she caught it in her throat before it escaped down the hallway. “We are out of choices, let’s just get this over with. We need to explain the _entire_ story and get going.”

Alistair felt suddenly worried, “what about Kieran?”

Morrigan locked eyes with him for a moment longer than she ever had before, “I think we should bring him.”

Alistair gaped, but didn’t say anything. He considered how terrifying it would be to have Kieran on the road with them… but how much _more_ terrifying it would be to leave him behind. Eventually, he nodded.

Morrigan smiled— _actually smiled_ —at him. Their faces were only six inches apart. This was literally the closest he had ever been to her face—even considering that they shared a child. The harshness she projected seemed to be more façade than reality from this distance. Before he could finish studying the tiny creases that had formed around her mouth or the thick black eyelashes that framed her  yellow eyes, she took his hand and pulled him back toward the room. This was, apparently, happening.


	31. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road, Cullen puts the pieces together about Kieran. He finally talks to Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.. Cullen...Alistair... actually talking. [breathe a sigh of relief with me]

**Two Weeks Later**

**_On the Road_ **

**Cullen**

Two weeks into their journey, Cullen was ready to be free of these people. His companions were insufferable. Each day that passed, he had less patience for Alistair’s attempt at wit and Morrigan’s ascendancy. To make matters worse, the weather had turned sour and cold as they entered the woods in northern Ferelden. Ten steps ahead, Morrigan was shrouded in black feathers of her own design while Alistair pulled a royal blue cape up around his ears. Between them, Kieran wore a purple cape so long it dragged on the ground. Huffing, Cullen caught his foot under a root and nearly fell.

“Whoa,” called Dorian, catching him under the arms, “the roots here are known to attack passersby.” He smiled, his eyes glinting.

Cullen lifted the corners of his mouth unconvincingly. At least Dorian was here for the right reasons—to find Icis and make sure she came home safely. Cullen suddenly realized he didn’t care what happened to Bella at all. For a girl he once knew _well_ , he couldn’t muster even a _shred_ of compassion. _Why was that_?

Dorian raised an eyebrow, “Whatever it is you’re thinking about seems awfully dark… Care to share?” He kept his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the others.

Cullen did _not_ want to share. He stayed silent and focused on avoiding rocks and stumps.

Dorian exhaled audibly, “You know, Commander, we don’t have to be best friends, but we _would_ be wise to ally ourselves in this—only _we_ are here for the Inquisitor. These others just see her as a means to an end.” His eyes darted from cape to cape in front of them.    

Cullen pursed his lips, considering.

“Furthermore,” continued Dorian in a hoarse whisper, “what do you think the story _there_ is?” He gestured discreetly to the three capes.

Cullen _did_ think it was odd that a _child_ was attempting this arduous journey with them instead of staying in Ferelden’s court, but he hadn’t considered its implications consciously.

“I haven’t the slightest,” said Cullen, shrugging.

Dorian made a face, “Come now, Commander. Surely you can see that something doesn’t add up.”

Cullen let his gaze drift from Alistair to Kieran and back again. Big brown eyes, unruly hair, _vacant_ expression… Cullen turned to exchange a look with Dorian.

Dorian nodded, “it’s _something_ like that…”

The more Cullen looked at Kieran, the more familiar he seemed. He'd known Alistair at that age, after all. The most striking similarity was in the use of words—Kieran would _not_ stop talking. Alistair was just like that.

 

* * *

 

**15 Years Earlier**

**_Chantry Dormitories_ **

**Cullen**

"…I heard some of the apprentices talking last night. There's going to be this _huge_ —" Alistair stopped talking abruptly when he saw Cullen. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning toward a group of three or four other boys who scattered at Cullen's entrance.

Cullen huffed. "I need to get some sleep," he mumbled, dropping his gauntlets next to his bed.

Since the newest roommate rotation, his sleep had been disrupted. Alistair was a hard person to sleep next to. He had friends visiting him at all hours and he frequently had nightmares that left him thrashing and yelling.  Cullen huffed again. In his periphery, he saw Alistair silently gesture for the others to leave and cross the room to close the door behind them.

"So…" said Alistair, "Did you finish that benchmark training session today?"

Cullen rolled his eyes. This particular training routine had been posted by the Knight Commander last week and included some of the hardest tasks he had ever heard of. He'd been trying every day, but he still hadn't finished it.

"…I haven't either…" continued Alistair.

Cullen could feel Alistair standing behind him, but he didn't turn to look. He continued working on the buckles of his breastplate.

"I'm sure you'll get it, though." Alistair gripped Cullen's shoulder encouragingly.

Cullen turned—a bit too fast—shaking his shoulder free in the process.

Alistair looked a bit bewildered when their eyes met. He raised his palm and shrugged. "Sorry…"

Cullen shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, "it's fine… this thing just has me vexed…" he sat on his bed and dropped his head into his hands.

"It's the first time you've _struggled_ ," said Alistair.

Cullen thought that was surprisingly perceptive. "I guess you're right…" He didn't look up, but he felt the bed creak and shift as Alistair sat next to him.

"Well…" said Alistair, "I struggle with basically _every_ assignment we get… and _I'm_ still standing."

Cullen looked up at him. His smile was downright _boyish_. In an unusually long moment, Cullen considered how opposite they were. He spent his own days and nights trying to quash every childlike tendency while Alistair embraced them—encouraging others, laughing at every inopportune moment… and that _smile_.

"Thanks, Al…" said Cullen. In a rare moment, he let the left corner of his mouth tug up over an incisor—it was as close as he would let himself come to smiling: a smirkish-sneer.

Alistair beamed.

Cullen _almost_ decided he liked his new roommate, when something unexpected happened. Alistair rocked his torso until their shoulders touched. Their faces were just an inch apart— _too_ _close_. Cullen stood, suddenly irritated. His smile evaporated.

"I'm going to bed," he said seriously. He felt the muscles of his face contort into a scowl.

Alistair deflated—his shoulders caving in on themselves. "Okay… see you in the morning…"

"I doubt it," said Cullen haughtily. "I'll be up before dawn to finish that challenge and then I'll _finally_ be able to move upstairs to the better quarters…"

Alistair bit his bottom lip as he moved over to his own bed. Cullen didn't know what that expression meant and he didn't care to ask.

 

* * *

 

**The Present**

Cullen and Dorian walked the next few hours in silence. Cullen couldn’t shut off his mind. He listened absently to Kieran prattle on about battles and swordplay and magic. The steady stream of well-intentioned conversation was _exactly_ like Alistair.

He wondered if Kieran would become a mage. If he did, where would he go? There were no more circles to speak of. Since this mess with Icis he had barely thought of the second mage uprising. The inquisition was _supposed_ to be settling relations between mages and the chantry, but he hadn’t given any counsel on the matter in weeks. Cullen nervously pushed his fingers through his curly blonde hair and tried to shake off the anxiety building in his chest.

“We should find a place to camp,” called Alistair from the front of the group.

Cullen blinked into the twilight. Had the sun set already? How far ahead of them would Icis and Bella be by now?

 

When they all settled into a heap of tent spikes and damp clothing, Cullen couldn’t help himself. “Kieran,” he began, “why don’t you tell me one of your stories?”

Kieran’s eyes lit up, “which story do you want to hear?” He scooted around the fire and settled in next to Cullen.

“Let’s hear one about your parents,” bated Cullen.

Kieran looked a bit perplexed. “I can tell you a story about my mother…” he looked down at his palms and fiddled with the hem of his cape. Then he whispered, “but I’m not supposed to talk about my _father_ …” His eyes were wide and liquid.

Cullen had his answer.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Alistair couldn’t sleep. He had tried every possible position and counted _thousands_ of sheep to no avail. When he was younger, sleeping on the ground was relaxing, but now he felt uncomfortable and cold and— _frustratingly_ —awake. When he finally had enough, he rolled out of his poorly established tent and pulled on a coat over his thin white tunic. He sighed at the coat, noticing a button missing. He had so many lovely pieces of clothing in Denerim.

Stepping out into the night, he imagined he was walking the halls of his palace. He knew every passage and crack in the stone walls. When king-hood was first thrust upon him, he hadn’t considered himself a particularly good candidate, but over time he had grown to appreciate the post. He didn’t like the meetings and paperwork, but he _loved_ his people. Every year he learned and became a little more proficient.

It was in those early days of learning about himself that he learned about Bella too. The words she chose to use and the expressions she made became part of his lexicon. Now, he felt like he didn’t know her at all. This was, after all, the _second_ time she had left him without saying goodbye. It made him think that she didn’t really respect him, which struck him as odd since her adage had always been that he should respect himself, that he _was_ good enough. Nevertheless, he was worried about her. Outside, he could imagine her musical voice in the wind. Lost in thought, Alistair didn’t notice Cullen’s approach until he was sitting next to him.

“Hello?” he said with a start.

“Sorry,” said Cullen with a slight sneer, “didn’t mean to startle you… I couldn’t sleep either.”

Alistair wasn’t sure _why_ Cullen thought he was welcome to sit, but he scooted over on the log to oblige him.

“Listen,” said Cullen. His voice was strained, “I know about Kieran.”

Alistair narrowed his eyes. _Was this a threat_?

Cullen continued, “Are you planning to claim him?”

Alistair didn’t think it was any of Cullen’s business, but he answered anyway, “Morrigan and I have an agreement—to keep him out of this whole royal thing.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

Alistair’s temper flared, “What’s it to you? _You_ haven’t lived in Ferelden for years.”

Cullen sighed, “Kieran _knows_ you’re his father, you know. I think it's troubling for him. He intimated as much to me earlier.” His tone implied reason.

“You _talked_ to him about it? What did he say?” Alistair asked, trying to keep his temper in check.

Cullen glanced down for a second before answering, “That he wasn’t _allowed_ to talk about his father.”

Alistair suddenly felt hot.

Cullen continued, “I don’t have any vested interest in this, I just know how detrimental secrets can be in families and he’s _such_ a good boy.”

Alistair found this whole conversation confusing. He wasn’t sure what Cullen’s _angle_ was. Moreover, the last time he _really_ saw Cullen, he punched him in the face. He felt his own embarrassment like a weight around his neck. He had to address it.

“Thank you,” he said tentatively. “Listen, about _before_ —back at Skyhold…”

“We _don’t_ need to talk about that,” interrupted Cullen.

Alistair disagreed, “I behaved like a child—what adult goes around punching people at random?” he let his head drop into a palm.

Cullen nodded understandingly.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” continued Alistair. “It wasn’t even about _her_ , really.” As soon as he said the last part, Alistair realized his mistake.

Cullen looked at him curiously, "what _was_ it about then?"

Alistair cursed himself— _when would he learn to keep his mouth shut_? "Forget it—it's not worth getting into…"

Cullen furrowed his brow and looked at Alistair appraisingly. Alistair feared that their conversation was about to get less friendly.

“Nevertheless,” said Cullen, his tone neutral, “I appreciate the apology.” He rubbed his jaw. “It was a rather good punch, actually.” He smiled wryly. "Certainly stronger than I remembered—the last time you hit me was rather weak…"

"I just didn't want to embarrass you," laughed Alistair. It wasn’t true, though. The last time he'd hit Cullen he'd done it under duress. He was a ball of emotions he still didn’t understand.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, "I expect it won't be long before we have a rematch…"

Alistair laughed, but he hoped that wasn't true. Something about being next to Cullen without wanting to hit him felt good. "I _never_ thought we would be here…"

Cullen squinted, "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Alistair suddenly felt small—16 years old again. "We were never _friends_." Alistair heard himself say the word before he could stop it— _they weren't friends now, either_.

Cullen exhaled audibly, "I guess we weren't…"

Alistair could feel stress building through his chest like a vice. "…but I admired you, you know." _Why couldn't he stop talking?_

Cullen smirked, "did you?"

Of course he did—Cullen was the best in his class: the most proficient, the most clever, the _hardest_ to impress. But how could he explain that? He wrung his hands and glared out into the darkness to keep himself from blurting out anything else embarrassing.

Cullen breathed in the night air and visibly filled his chest.

Alistair straightened his posture instinctively—he wanted to feel like he _belonged_ next to Cullen on the log.

“When we find them,” began Cullen, “what are you going to do?”

“Yell a little?” joked Alistair. Cullen cracked a smile and Alistair continued, “No, I’ll probably just end up taking her back. That’s what always happens...”

Cullen squinted at him.

“She’s a hard person to _know_ ,” said Alistair. He let his focus relax and tried to think of how to explain this to Cullen. “Bella Surana is a _legend_ ,” he said categorically. “She comes and goes as she pleases, she does what she thinks is advantageous, and she leaves people _broken_ in her wake—often literally.”

He smirked at Cullen and paused for dramatic effect.

“So when she loves you—when she _says_ she loves you—you feel like the luckiest person on earth. And then she goes and does something _thoughtless_ —“

“Like leaving for two years?” interjected Cullen, that sneer still imprinted across his upper lip.

“Yes, exactly,” said Alistair emphatically, “—you think it must be your fault. Because how could Bella Surana,” he waved his arms and deepened his voice for effect, “—vanquisher of the Blight, Hero of Ferelden—have done something wrong? _No_ , if she’s gone, it’s because _you_ weren’t worthy in the first place.”

“You must know that’s not true on _some_ level,” offered Cullen.

“I do,” Alistair laughed, “ _until_ I see her again. Then she stands there, radiating power, and we repeat the whole cycle.”

They nodded to each other in silent agreement.

“The first time I ever had that experience was during the Blight, you know,” said Alistair.

“Really?” asked Cullen, “what happened?”

“We had gone to find Andraste’s ashes in the mountains north of Haven. It took weeks of travel through the deep roads, past all kinds of cultists and darkspawn. When we finally reached the urn’s burial place, there were psychological tests—it was a _huge_ ordeal."

Cullen cocked his head to the side, listening intently.

"Anyway," continued Alistair, "when we finally found the ashes, Bella took a pinch of them for Arl Eamon and then _defiled_ the rest.”

Cullen’s mouth gaped and the color drained from his cheeks.

“ _I know_ ,” said Alistair shaking his head. “It was horrifying. And she did it for basically no reason. She just didn’t want anyone else using them and she hates the chantry, etc. etc.”

Alistair paused; this was the part of the story that reflected on him badly.

“The worst part is, when we got back to camp, Leliana and Wynne asked me about the ashes and I _lied_."

He looked at Cullen intently, trying to discern if Cullen was going to do something unexpected—yell or hit him or suddenly leave. There were no signs of the boy who once did that, though.  

"I’ve never told anyone else about what she did," said Alistair finally. "The only people who know are the ones who were there—Morrigan and Zevran and _me_. I confronted her about it eventually, but she persuaded me that it was for the greater good and that it didn’t really matter—and _somehow_ I went along with it.”

Cullen looked at Alistair with pity and a huge deal of understanding—more than Alistair thought he deserved.

“Alistair,” began Cullen gently, “you’re not the first person in history to compromise his beliefs for someone else, but you _can_ stop this cycle if you want to.”

Alistair furrowed his brow skeptically, “Just like _that_ , huh?”

Cullen’s expression was imbued with wisdom. “When we find Bella and Icis—and I know we will—keep your wits about you. Use _fewer_ words. There is power in stoicism.”

Alistair pictured the scene: they would see Bella come out of the woods. Her hair would be blowing in the wind behind her, her staff might glow with magical fury… but there was one variable he hadn’t fully accounted for—he felt instantly sweaty. He was going to see Icis for the first time since she _saved his life_. That, he would have to deal with. It occurred to him that Cullen must know about that too.

Alistair decided to avoid the topic, “Do you ever think about those days in the chantry? When we were growing up?” he asked.

Cullen sighed and ran a hand over the back of his neck, “Sometimes,” he paused, “but thinking about the order isn’t particularly _cathartic_ for me—I’m sure you can understand _why_.”

Alistair was just trying to change the subject, but now he had stumbled into something arguably more delicate. He cursed internally.

“It’s not that I don’t _appreciate_ all the time I spent becoming educated and the training—I _do_ , of course,” continued Cullen. “It’s just that so much has _happened_." He brushed a hand through his hair again. "I’m not sure if you know, but I gave up lyrium several years ago…” he trailed off.

Alistair was surprised. It was very unusual—if not impossible—for a Templar to quit lyrium. Its addictive properties were well-known. “How did you manage that?” he asked.

“ _Barely_ ,” Cullen smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I just thought about all the templars who died carrying out chantry orders and I wondered if they would have acted the same way without the lyrium clouding their judgment.”

“Can you think more clearly now?” asked Alistair.

“I _think_ so,” mused Cullen, “At first, I thought I was quicker on lyrium, but I think I might have imagined that. You're so lucky you never took your vows,” said Cullen.

“It wasn’t _luck_ ,” said Alistair darkly, “my mother arranged it, I’m pretty sure.”

Cullen looked suspicious, “your _mother_?”

Alistair was over-sharing again—he could feel it. “Fiona,” he said barely louder than a whisper. “She was Grand Enchanter at the time, but she still had Grey Warden contacts, so she pulled strings to get me out of there. Duncan and she were friends when she was still a Grey Warden herself.”

Cullen cocked his head to the side, “you’re an _elf_?”

Alistair didn’t think _that_ was the most important part of the story. He rolled his eyes, “half.”

“Not that it matters,” corrected Cullen. “I’m just surprised…"

Alistair wasn’t sure what to say. Cullen apparently wasn’t bothered by silence, because he let it go on for what felt like an _awfully_ long time to Alistair. Eventually, Alistair couldn’t take it and he changed the subject again.

“You asked me what I was going to do when we find them,” he began, “what are _you_ going to do, Cullen?”

Cullen raised his eyebrows and smiled, “My main goal is to find Icis—not because of anything _personal_ —but for the Inquisition. The region needs stabilizing.”

“I heard that the mages are resisting the new circles,” said Alistair.

“They are,” said Cullen. Worry fell over his face, “I can’t _imagine_ what has happened since we’ve been away.” He paused, “Alistair, if, for some reason, I don’t make it back, I would like to know that order has been restored. From Ferelden, could you make sure that happens?”

Alistair felt the weight of this request heavily. He also wondered _why_ he and Cullen were acting like best friends all of a sudden. Literally ten minutes earlier he would have called Cullen an acquaintance, if not a downright nemesis. _Why_ would Cullen entrust him with such an important task?

“I can certainly try,” said Alistair, extending his forearm to Cullen.

Cullen smiled and gripped his arm. It was the first time he'd touched him in over a decade. He wondered if Cullen thought about their childhood as much as he did himself. He'd sidestepped the question earlier—Alistair felt inexplicably rejected. But maybe this was the beginning of something new—something _bolstering_. He didn’t want to hope, but a tiny ember of optimism burned as he realized the climate had _changed_ between them.


	32. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Cullen continue to cultivate a tenuous alliance. Alistair has a poignant nightmare. Cullen can't sleep again. 
> 
> Warning: NSFW below!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I write Cullen and Alistair talking to each other, it feels more natural than the other characters. I guess because I love them so freaking much... ;) 
> 
> Lots more of this type of communication coming..

**A Few Days Later**

**_On the Road_ **

**Cullen**

One wet afternoon, Cullen strode up next to Alistair to find him explaining Templars and circles to Kieran.

“So a Templar is like guard?” asked Kieran, squinting up at Alistair. Rain was falling into his eyes and he kept rubbing them.

“Sort of,” said Alistair. From his expression, Cullen could tell that Alistair was trying to be _political_ in his answer.

“They’re more like custodians, Kieran,” interjected Cullen.

Kieran furrowed his brow, “what’s a custodian?”

Alistair rolled his eyes at Cullen, but smiled nevertheless.

“A custodian is someone who has been entrusted with a great responsibility,” answered Cullen.

Alistair looked up at him strangely. What Alistair didn’t know, though, is that Cullen was being completely transparent. His opinion of the Templar order had _always_ been a good one. Even though he eventually left, his _beliefs_ hadn’t changed.

Kieran squinted, “and what _is_ their responsibility?”

“To protect mages—from the fade, from non-mages who fear them, and sometimes from themselves,” answered Cullen seriously.

Kieran made a face, “but why would people be afraid of mages?”

“Because they are small-minded,” said Alistair emphatically before Cullen could answer. Cullen thought this was _reductionist_ , but for an eleven-year-old it seemed appropriate to cultivate tolerance.

“Am _I_ going to be a mage?” asked Kieran quietly.

Cullen could tell he had been wondering this for a while from his tone.

Alistair looked over his shoulder and tried to catch Morrigan’s gaze. When he couldn’t, he locked eyes with Cullen for a just a second. The sentiment seemed to be, “help!”

Cullen choked back a laugh, “There is no way to tell for certain if you’ll be a mage or not, but I think the fact that you haven’t shown any magical abilities _yet_ says that you probably won’t.”

Kieran looked down at the wet earth and wrung his hands, “I see…”

Alistair put an arm on Kieran’s shoulder and leaned over him protectively, “But there are so many wonderful things in the world that happen without magic. So don’t worry if you’re just a regular person—like we are.” He smiled at Cullen—something gentle behind his eyes.

Kieran looked up into Alistair’s face skeptically. Cullen could understand why a child who grew up with Morrigan would think mages were superior to non-magical people.

“So if I _can’t_ be a mage, what are my other options?” asked Kieran.

Alistair smiled, “Well, you could be a farmer, or a sheep herder…” Kieran laughed at these suggestions and Alistair took that as encouragement, “or what about a goat milker? Or… a librarian or antiquarian—I bet those jobs are _loads_ of fun!” He looked at Cullen, " _loads_ of fun…"

Cullen snorted.

He suddenly picked up Kieran around the waist and threw him over his shoulder. Kieran laughed and flailed.

For a second, Cullen felt a pang of envy, but he willed it away. He could, after all, still have children of his own if he wanted them. Without magical intervention, Alistair would not have had even this one. He reminded himself, also, that their relationship was complicated. The _actual_ jobs that Kieran could have were _King_ —assuming Morrigan would allow it—or 'Illegitimate Royal Bastard.'

Morrigan was suddenly beside them. “My, my, Kieran, what has this _crazy person_ done to you?” she smiled up at Kieran’s face over Alistair’s shoulder.

Kieran laughed and pushed water out of his face—it was still raining rather heavily.

Alistair caught Morrigan’s eyes and promptly put Kieran down as though he had been caught misbehaving. It was a look Cullen _remembered_ in the recesses of his memory.

“Kieran,” began Morrigan when her son was back on the ground, “would you be willing to go walk with Dorian for a little while?”

Kieran looked at her sourly for a fraction of a second, but then ran back to where Dorian was plodding through the mud behind them.

 

“We have a small problem,” said Morrigan quietly.

Cullen felt nervous, “what is it?”

“I was just surveying our path ahead,” began Morrigan, “there are _dozens_ of rebel mages encamped just a few hundred feet from us.”

Cullen looked at her seriously, “Can we avoid them?”

“I don’t think so,” said Morrigan flatly. “We could go around, but it would cost us enough time that I think Alistair would lose Bella’s trail… Is that right?”

Alistair kicked the mud as he walked and nodded.

Cullen considered, “is there any possibility they will let us pass if we announce ourselves and our intentions?”

Alistair looked up at him hopefully.

“I think that’s our best option,” answered Morrigan. “There’s something _else_ you should know…” she hesitated, “Hawke and Anders are among them.”

Cullen felt his temper flare. He hadn’t seen Anders since that fateful night at the chantry in Kirkwall. He _had_ seen Hawke, but only briefly—Icis kept them separated as much as possible. The sight of them made him ill. Although he agreed about the conditions in the Kirkwall Circle, he could never _condone_ the blind killing of a Revered Mother and hundreds of people in a chantry.

Alistair must have seen the rage flickering behind his eyes, because he stopped walking suddenly and put an hand on his shoulder. “You mustn’t let _that_ out when we see them,” he said gently.

"That's rich, coming from _you_ ," said Cullen haughtily, jerking his shoulder free.

Alistair shrugged, looking a little hurt, “I know what they did wasn’t right, but they are trying to keep mages from being subjugated again…”

Cullen rolled his eyes. He was about to argue when he was struck by the _repetition_ of this interaction. Alistair touched him—he pulled away—Alistair looked _sad_. He still didn't know what it meant.

Morrigan stepped between them and waved her arms. “This is immaterial—we need to get into the camp and get out the other side unharmed,” said Morrigan. “If we could restock our supplies that would be _even better_ , so I expect both of you to be on your best behavior.”

 

Cullen walked the rest of the way in silence. He let himself fall three steps behind Alistair and Morrigan, who were quietly whispering plans to each other. The freezing rain had intensified. His blonde curls were soaked and fell into his eyes, but he was so deeply entrenched in theoretical conversations he barely noticed. In  his mind he yelled at Hawke and she yelled back. Her aqua eyes pierced through the rainy night and threatening flames erupted in her palms. Cullen shuddered. He also saw Alistair's face—that vexing look that was so familiar _and yet_ so foreign. 

            “We should probably stop here overnight,” said Cullen, looking at the rest of the group.

            Morrigan nodded and looked at Alistair with trepidation. They all knew this was going to be _tenuous_. These rebels had been through a lot since the first war and they were likely to be more worried about outsiders than before.

            They set up their tents in a small circle and Cullen tried to sleep. He kept hearing Alistair rustling in the tent next to him—he must be _dreaming_. It was like being back in the barracks.

 

* * *

 

**[Dream Sequence]**

**Alistair - 10 Years Earlier**

 

Alistair couldn’t sleep. 24 hours ago he had been crowned king. 48 hours ago he had ended a blight—or at least _helped_ , he corrected mentally. 72 hours ago he had _theoretically_ fathered a child. 96 hours ago he had agreed to marry Anora. These had been the most exhausting 4 days of his life.

Bella stirred beside him. He turned to face her expectantly, but she didn’t open her eyes. Her porcelain skin shone in the moonlight, its strange blue light illuminating each tiny scar and nick in her skin. Her heroism on the roof of Fort Drakon left her with a deep gouge through her left eyebrow that he knew would become the newest addition.

“This is so unfair,” he whispered under his breath.

Bella’s eyes closed tighter and her brow knit, but she still didn’t wake.

Alistair inched closer to her beautiful face. He studied her features—he wanted to remember her _just like this_ in the days that followed: big, round, liquid brown eyes under heavily lidded sleep. A button of a nose that wrinkled when she laughed. High, proud cheekbones and a strong jaw… As he mused over her features, she turned her head slightly, illuminating the crux of this problem—those _ears_. How could two tiny points make the difference between a peasant and a queen? Those ears were _manacles_ —shackling her to notoriety and never allowing her to join him in his new post.  Before the Landsmeet, he _begged_ her not to do it.

“I can’t do this without you; _please_ don’t make me,” he had pleaded. She looked up at him, her jaw squared, and he knew he didn’t have a choice. When the nobility supported him, his future was sealed.

He approached her after the decision came in; “Bella, we need to talk about _us_ …” he began. The words formed silently in his mouth and burned in his throat even now.

“We can’t be together if I’m king,” he continued.

Bella looked crestfallen. It was the only time he had seen that look on her. Guilt closed in around him like a cold, damp fog. It was in _that_ moment that everything changed. His mind raced and bucked. He had decided an hour ago that he was going to break up with Bella and try to commit himself to Anora and to his country, but now, _facing her_ —the woman who saved his life, the woman who would save them _all_ —his resolve was weakening. Her eyes began to fill with tears and before she said anything he saw their world’s fabric coming apart to reveal shades of grey.

“You are the king; you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she said coolly.

He wanted to argue—but he didn't. “You’re right,” he said, setting his jaw. “I’ll be king _and_ I’ll be with you.”

Out from under her tears emerged a smile—a _special_ smile she reserved only for him.

 

In the moonlight it still felt like a bad idea, but he couldn’t leave her. Whenever she left the _room_ , he nearly panicked, how could he be expected to run a _country_ without her? She had promised to stay with him—ride on his left flank. The Warden Commander, his personal military expert and commander of his troops—it was plausible that she would be with him wherever he went, wasn’t it? He wanted her to wake up; he needed reassurance.

“Bella?” he whispered. He waited a moment and then asked a little louder, “Bella?”

Bella opened her eyes and squinted into the room, clearly a bit dazed. When her gaze landed on him, her lips curved into a sleepy smile.

“Hi,” she cooed, nuzzling her nose into a space below his clavicle.

He wrapped his arms around her ribs and pulled her whole body across the smooth sheets.

“Would you marry me?” he asked into her hair.

Bella backed up and looked into his eyes, “what do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Alistair smiling, “would you marry me?”

“I _can’t_ marry you,” said Bella seriously.

Alistair felt a little rejected even though he knew she was right. He decided to try again, “I mean _if you could_ … would you?”

He expected her to smile and relax back into his chest, but she _didn’t_. If anything, she _stiffened_.

“I love you,” she said, not looking at him.

Now he was upset, “That’s not exactly the answer I was looking for—that isn’t really an answer _at all_.”

He felt her pull against his arms so he gripped her tighter.

“Alistair,” she said reproachfully, “ _why_ are we having this conversation? I _can’t_ marry you,” she pulled out of his grip and turned away from him to face the ceiling.

Alistair rolled onto his side and put his face into her direct gaze. “I love you,” he said with rising fear, “ _I_ want to marry you. I would—in a _second_. I was just making a point, but now it seems like there is something else we need to get out in the open.”

She glared at him, her eyes burning.

Suddenly, her demeanor changed. "Alistair…" she touched his cheek and her face softened. "Go back to sleep. We can talk about this another time."

Alistair nodded, dejected. Deep in his gut, though, he knew they would _never_ talk about it again. He turned away from her and pretended to sleep.

 

* * *

 

**The Present**

**_Camp_ **

**Alistair**

Alistair shot up and hit his head on a tent pole. This particular memory had haunted his dreams for the better part of a decade, but it scared him every time.

A face appeared at the end of his tent, “Are you all right?” asked Cullen.

Alistair’s face burned, “I’m _fine_ ,” he mustered a weak laugh. “I have this stupid dream sometimes—it’s a _memory_ , actually.” This was especially embarrassing because vivid nightmares were one of the ways he interrupted Cullen's sleep night after night in the chantry dorms.

“What is it about?” Cullen asked. He crawled into the tent to get out of the rain that was still falling in sheets.

Alistair raised his eyebrow, “You really want to hear about my _bad_ _dream_?” He laughed.

Cullen smirked.

“Well,” began Alistair, “when I first found out I was going to be king, I didn’t want to do it. In fact, there was nothing I wanted _less_.”

Cullen nodded.

“I wanted to stay with the Grey Wardens—visit Weisshaupt, explore the Deep Roads, be with Bella…” he wrung his hands and stared over Cullen’s shoulder, envisioning it. “But when my uncle, Arl Eamon, decided that I should be the next king of Ferelden, Bella agreed with him…”

Cullen furrowed his brow, “And you went along with it?”

“I didn’t really have a _choice_ ,” answered Alistair. “When Bella decides something it just _happens_ …" Cullen and he exchanged a knowing look, "Anyway, after the archdemon was defeated—and I _didn’t_ die—my marriage to Anora was finalized.”

“One night,” he continued, “I was in bed with Bella—the _first_ night we stayed together in Denerim.” Alistair hesitated. The dream felt intimate and he was scared to be too open with Cullen—historically, it was a dangerous choice.

“Is this in the dream or in real life?” asked Cullen interestedly. He edged his way closer to Alistair until they were sitting cross legged, knee to knee.

“ _Both_ , actually,” answered Alistair. “The dream is _uncannily_ accurate.”

Cullen nodded again.

“So I asked Bella if she would _marry_ me…”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed.

“…as sort of a _joke_ ,” explained Alistair. “I just wanted her to say ‘yes’ so we could plan our completely fanciful, _unrealistic_ , wedding and I wouldn’t feel so guilty about marrying Anora.”

“Ahh,” said Cullen. “And what did she say?”

“Well, she didn’t say 'yes'— _that’s for sure_ ,” said Alistair ruefully. “She didn’t really say _anything_ , actually. I suppose I should have known right then that our future was doomed, _but I didn’t_. I let her secretly lead the country from behind the scenes for another decade—maybe that’s what she wanted all along.”

Cullen looked at Alistair with understanding that he had rarely experienced— _compassion,_ even.

“Did you ever get yourself into a situation like this? An embarrassingly stupid one?” asked Alistair, a laugh escaping out of the corner of his mouth.

Cullen smirked, the scar on his lip pulling his mouth into a pleasing shape. “Not _lately_ … Maybe not since I let you off the hook for that Chantry sister thing…” he looked at Alistair sideways.

Alistair’s eyes widened—he hoped Cullen had forgotten about that. “She came to _my_ room! For the last time, I didn’t _invite_ her!” he stammered.

" _Our_ room, Alistair…" Now Cullen was laughing, deep and loud.

"Yeah well…" Alistair pushed a hand through his hair, "I am sorry about the _mess_ …"

“The look on _your face_ when I dragged you down to the great hall—” Cullen leaned back onto his elbow as his chest shook with laughter.

Alistair was laughing now too, “I _thought_ you were going to tell the Revered Mother!”

He rolled onto his arm and propped up his head on his hand, mirroring Cullen's repose.

They let the laughter fall around them and eventually dissipate.

Alistair felt suddenly curious in the silence. “Why _didn’t_ you? …turn me in, I mean?” he asked.

Cullen looked around the tent and took a deep breath before answering. “You weren’t the first recruit to be caught with an initiate... it hardly seemed fair to drag you down to the Revered Mother in the middle of the night,” he said. "Besides…" Cullen cleared his throat, "I didn't think you were actually _interested_ in her…"

“I wasn't…" said Alistair. "…but you _hated_ me."

“Hate is a strong word, Alistair,” said Cullen. "I know I wasn't… I didn't handle…" he interrupted himself. "I'm _sorry_ ," he said seriously.

Alistair raised his eyebrows, "me too…" he mumbled. "I don’t know what I was thinking back then… especially that _one_ day… in the yard…" Alistair remembered Cullen's breath on his neck—a feeling deep inside burned dangerously and he'd almost _kissed_ him. How _humiliating_.

Cullen's expression turned dark. Alistair wished had hadn't brought it up. It was a gnawing embarrassment that his subconscious dredged up whenever he was feeling vulnerable.

“I'm awfully sorry about _that_ day in particular," said Cullen.

Alistair thought he might have misheard him. He was surprised Cullen even knew what he was talking about.

"I didn't know how to deal with…" Cullen paused, his jaw clenching as if words were trying to escape against resistance. "… _anything_ back then…"

"What does _that_ mean?" asked Alistair.

Cullen sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and looked at Alistair intently. His pupils darted from eye to eye.

"We don't have to talk about this…" said Alistair, abruptly. He started to sit up, his arms folded protectively across his chest.

"I think we _do_ ," said Cullen. He put a hand on Alistair's shoulder—a historical gesture that had _never_ happened in this direction. Alistair felt the warmth of his palm as he turned back to face him. Before he knew what was happening, Cullen kissed him—passionate, zealous. Alistair pulled his face away, lips slightly parted. His eyes were wide with shock.

"I should have done that a long time ago," whispered Cullen.

Alistair didn't speak—he couldn't remember _how_.

"We spent the last two decades attacking each other," smirked Cullen. "But I _never_ hated you…"

In the moment it took Alistair to contain his shock, he let his eyes drift over Cullen's blonde curls and cleft chin—he was _incredibly_ handsome.

Alistair tried not to pant as he closed the gap between them. He pressed his tongue between Cullen's lips. Cullen growled—primal and raw and a little _scary_.

" _How_ long?" asked Alistair breathlessly, between stanzas of kissing.

Cullen blinked, "always?" He kissed Alistair's neck. "Since we met?"

In a rush of vindication, Alistair slid his hands to the hem of Cullen's linen shirt and ripped it off over his head. He took in Cullen’s chest—perfect striation and symmetry. He pushed Cullen back against the lumpy bedroll, skimming the edge of his clavicle with his lips. Cullen ran his hands up and down the fabric at Alistair's sides and encouraged the garment off over his head. When they touched, the patches of hair on Cullen’s smooth skin tickled against his own. Cullen groaned in Alistair's ear as they undressed—their clothes a distant memory in some small corner of the tent.

Alistair shuddered at the growing heat where their hips met. He realized he was painfully erect when he brushed against Cullen’s thigh. He grasped desperately to touch him. His fingers found the shaft—thick and smooth and so _different_ than his own. Cullen’s mouth curved desperately around Alistair’s lips and Alistair plunged his tongue deep into Cullen’s mouth as his hand moved rhythmically.

Alistair ground himself against Cullen’s thigh and abdomen. If he were surer of himself, he would have asked— _begged_ —for Cullen to touch him, but this was so new… and yet so old: _half his life_ had been spent secretly craving this moment.

Cullen pulled away from their kiss. His lips were swollen and pink. Alistair craned his neck and bit the bottom one.

"Owww," growled Cullen. He was smirking again.

Alistair panted down at Cullen, backing up far enough to keep his features in focus. "I want you…please…" he begged.

Cullen's fingers bit into the skin of Alistair's hips in a commanding gesture. Even though Alistair had him pinned to the ground, Cullen's control of the situation seemed unflappable.

"Tell me again…" whispered Cullen, sitting upright.

Alistair refused to back up. Their chests collided as Alistair wound his arms around Cullen. "I _want_ you," he repeated hoarsely.

Cullen groaned and bit the edge of Alistair's ear. "Say my name," he snarled.

Alistair's breath caught, "…Cullen…"

Cullen moved suddenly. He pushed Alistair off, nearly throwing him backward onto the ground. Alistair almost resisted, but Cullen was settling between his knees in a way that Alistair wanted to see to fruition. Cullen trailed his hands over Alistair's chest and kneeled low.

Suddenly, Cullen had drawn him into his mouth. Alistair grabbed fistfuls of Cullen’s curls and moaned his name as Cullen desperately sucked and licked along his length. Alistair’s vision swam as he realized he _ached_ for this man—this man he had _seen_ all his life but never really _known_ at all.

Cullen looked at Alistair for a minute, chest heaving and lips glistening. Alistair wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to make love to him. Cullen wrapped his arms around Alistair’s body, pressing their chests together. They were a tangle of arms and legs and mouths and fingers. Alistair couldn't help thrusting into Cullen's gut. The harder he pushed against Cullen, the harder Cullen pushed back—the sweat that clung to them only intensifying every feeling.

Alistair muffled a cry into Cullen’s shoulder and left teeth marks in the soft skin at the base of his neck.

“Are you all right?” asked Cullen, breathless and panting.

Alistair nodded. " _Cullen_ …" he breathed.

After a period of time Alistair couldn't categorize, beads of sweat were forming on Cullen’s brow and his eyes closed tightly.

"I think I'm…" Cullen gasped, "—I'm going to…"

Alistair kissed him again—softer than before. Alistair wanted to be there _with_ him. He found Cullen's cock between them with a palm and let him to thrust into his hand. He kissed and sucked and bit Cullen’s bottom lip. Cullen growled into his mouth as he came.

When Cullen opened his eyes a moment later, Alistair realized their bodies were slick and he wondered if he should feel embarrassed.

Cullen caught him looking and smiled, “it’s ok…” he whispered. He found Alistair with his palm and tugged. Alistair stared into Cullen's eyes, wishing he could read his thoughts. The moment he came, he involuntarily shut them, but Cullen was all he saw in the darkness of his eyelids anyway.

As his vision filtered back in, Alistair kissed the stubble of Cullen's cheek and sucked his lower lip. He was dirty and slick, but he had never felt so _whole_.

Cullen sat up suddenly. Alistair felt the loss of warmth like ice on his neck.  “Come here,” he grabbed the corner of a blanket and wiped it across their skin before throwing Alistair his pants.

Alistair squinted at him, but put them on. He would have followed Cullen anywhere.

Rain was still pelting the camp outside.

It was cold, but Alistair barely noticed. Cullen led him to the edge of the woods and pulled him into a kiss. Water soaked their hair and rolled off their shoulders. Alistair pushed Cullen’s curls off his brow and cupped his face.

"Do you remember when I used to sneak out onto the roof from our room?" asked Cullen.

Alistair nodded.

"Do you know why I did that?" he asked.

"Why?" asked Alistair

Cullen shifted, leaning more of his weight against Alistair. "Because it was too hard to be near you…"

Alistair blushed. "What do you mean?"

"You were so…" Cullen's eyes darted—as if the words he needed were floating somewhere in the distance, "so _good_."

Alistair smiled. "You were too, Cullen… deep down… you had—have—so much _heart_."

Cullen was suddenly kissing him again in a way he'd never been kissed.

Time didn’t seem to have meaning, but Alistair guessed they had been out there a long time when he started to shiver.

“I think we'd better go back inside…” he said sheepishly. He still hadn’t let go of Cullen. He didn’t want to.

Cullen nodded.

Alistair snuck back to the entrance of his tent. He thought Cullen was right behind him, but when he turned around, he was alone. He peeked his head back outside and squinted through the rain in time to see Cullen close the flap of his own tent. Alone, he realized the gravity of what had just happened. He crawled to the far end of his tent and wrapped himself in his blanket—tattered and threadbare. He closed his eyes for a second and wondered what this was going to feel like in the morning.

 

“Alistair?” Cullen’s face was at the bottom of his tent again.

Alistair’s heart leapt into his throat and his voice came out too high, “I thought you’d gone to sleep…”

Cullen smirked, “I went to get some blankets.” He pulled himself inside, carrying three thick blankets and a pillow. “I noticed your packing is rather _lackluster_. Didn’t you have some servants who could have outfitted your tent better?” His laugh was easy and light.

“I’m glad you came back,” said Alistair quietly. He looked up a Cullen with liquid eyes and nervously pushed his hand through his hair.

Cullen smiled, but didn’t say anything.

Alistair could tell he was blushing again. He cleared his throat and took the blankets from Cullen. He laid them out strategically to cover a big enough floor space for both of them to lay comfortably.

“Does that seem okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” said Cullen lying down on his left side, facing Alistair.

Alistair mirrored him and pulled the covers over them up to their shoulders. He reached his hand across to touch Cullen’s side. Without the agonizing, pulsing, euphoria of an hour ago he wondered if Cullen would pull away— _he didn’t._

Cullen rumpled Alistair’s hair and kissed his forehead before pulling him closer into a hug and closing his eyes.

Alistair closed his eyes too, but he couldn’t _imagine_ sleeping. He couldn't stop thinking _this_ was the moment he'd been waiting for since they met.


	33. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Alistair wake up together. The mage encampment looms ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, we're in total cullen-alistair adorableness. Fluff, heartache, desire, you name it. :) 
> 
> The publication schedule might get a little weird, though, as I'm traveling next week. Just a warning.

**The Next Morning**

**Cullen**

Cullen wasn’t sure when Alistair fell asleep, but he must have eventually, because he was snoring quietly next to him. Alistair’s head was resting in the space between Cullen’s arm and chest and although the weight of it was making Cullen’s fingers numb, he didn’t want to wake him yet. He knew that waking him up would require _talking_ and, in the morning light, that seemed complex.

Just then, the tent flap flung open. Light streamed into the tent behind Morrigan, who was already yelling.

“Alistair, wake up!” she said, “We can’t find Commander Cullen _anywhere_ —” Her voice broke off when she saw him. Morrigan’s eyes widened and she turned her back, closing the tent flap behind her.

Cullen could hear Morrigan outside, addressing Dorian. “No need to panic, I _found_ him…” then further away, “Kieran, let’s get some water and start breakfast.”

“But mom,” Kieran protested, “I wanted to say good morning to Alistair…”

“That’s very nice Kieran,” answered Morrigan, further away still, “let’s give him just a few minutes to get up…”

Cullen heard Kieran continue to protest, but they were soon far enough away that their voices faded into whispers.

Alistair finally opened his eyes, “good morning?” he looked up at Cullen, squinting.

Cullen was impressed by how _handsome_ Alistair looked without sleep. The lines around his eyes only _enhanced_ his boyish charm.

“Good morning…” he said hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how this was going to go. “Morrigan was just here…”

Alistair’s eyes widened, but he didn’t look cross. “She is going to want to talk to me… Do you know where my shirt is?” He started fumbling around in the corner of the tent throwing articles of clothing everywhere.

Cullen smiled at him, still lying down. He was afraid that everything would be _different_ when they got outside.

Alistair smiled, his left dimple a bit deeper than the right. “I'm so glad you didn't leave…" he said seriously.

Cullen squinted at him. _Leaving_ hadn't even occurred to him.

Alistair pulled his shirt on over his head and crawled toward the mouth of the tent. Before exiting, he seemed to change his mind. "Hey…" he said, suddenly rushing back toward Cullen. "I'm not _leaving_ either…" he kissed him gently.

Alone in the tent, Cullen felt his face crack— _a genuine smile_.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Outside, the rain had finally stopped, but there was a light mist everywhere and the sun didn’t seem to be able to break through the thick cloud cover. Morrigan gave him a dirty look as she returned to the camp’s center with Kieran. Kieran broke into a trot when he saw Alistair and hugged him around the waist when he got close enough.

“Good morning!” said Alistair jovially. He knew that something—maybe _everything_ —had changed overnight, but here, with Kieran, everything seemed as it should.

“You slept for a long time,” commented Kieran.

“He _didn’t,_ actually,” said Morrigan. Alistair knew that was for _him_ , not Kieran.

Alistair raised an eyebrow in her direction before turning back to Kieran, “I’m up now—do you need anything?”

“No,” said Kieran thoughtfully, “I just wanted to make sure we were _set_ before we meet the mages.” He nodded seriously.

Alistair realized he must have heard them say this a million times— _'set'._ It was funny to hear him speaking like a miniaturized version of them.

“Thanks, Kieran,” said Alistair, kneeling down in front of him, “I just need to talk to your mother and then we can make sure everything is _set_ together, okay?” Kieran smiled and ran off to help Dorian finish breakfast.

“I’m sorry?” said Alistair once Kieran was out of earshot.

“I _doubt_ that,” said Morrigan appraisingly.

"What do you want me to say?" he stammered. "I didn’t really do anything _wrong_ …” In truth, he couldn't think of anything more _right_.

“What _are_ you doing? I thought we were going to find Bella!” She sounded exasperated.

“Morrigan,” he put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down, but she shook him off. “We’re _going_ to find her. This doesn’t change anything—”

“It _does_ , actually,” she interrupted. “This is complicated enough without you making a mess of all your relationships. Have you _forgotten_ our mission?”

Alistair kicked a patch of dirt with his boot. “I didn’t mean to mess anything up, Morrigan,” he said uncomfortably.

“It’s _fine_ ,” said Morrigan. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “When we find Bella and Icis I’m not going to bail you out of this one. It’s up to _you_ to explain it.”

He smiled from under a blush. Morrigan was impressively pragmatic. He wondered how she could manage it.

“I need to finish a few things before we get to the mage camp,” said Morrigan turning to leave, “stay _sharp_ , okay? This could be very dangerous…” She managed a smile, but he could see fear pulling at the corners of her eyes.

Alistair was left standing alone in the middle of camp. Kieran and Dorian were standing together at a cauldron with Cullen hovering between them. Alistair let his eyes linger over Cullen’s feathered cape and curly hair. Cullen caught him looking and smiled. Alistair’s heart fluttered.

 

* * *

 

An hour later they approached the camp entrance. Morrigan led the group, her staff raised as a sign that she was “one of them.” Alistair and she had laughed about this tactic earlier—of all the mages in the world, she was the _least_ likely to be part of a mage rebellion. Morrigan had often made it a point to express her distaste for mage politics. Nevertheless, she was the perfect person to broker peace for them.

Ahead, a gate stood at least 12 feet high. It was made of curved branches—they looked like ironbark. This was, no doubt, a gift from the dalish elves who were taking refuge among them. Ironbark was amazing stuff—as strong as valyrian steel and half as heavy, with unmatched flexibility. Alistair hadn’t finished marveling at the intricacies of the craftsmanship when a wall of fire erupted in front of the group.

“Stop right there!” yelled a familiar voice. Hawke stepped out from behind the wall, her eyes narrow and suspicious.

Morrigan held her hands up in a gesture of good will. “We happened upon your camp accidentally. We only need to pass through.” Her voice was clear and steady even though Alistair suspected she was afraid.

Hawke glared at their group, “Who are you?” she demanded.

Morrigan took two small steps forward and pointed as she introduced each person. “I am Morrigan, this is my son Kieran. This is Dorian, a mage from Tevinter. The other two are not mages, I’m afraid, but you may know them…” she trailed off.

Alistair stepped up next to her and bowed his head slightly to Hawke. “Champion, it’s nice to see you again—I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Hawke didn’t smile at him the way he _hoped_ she would, but she didn’t attack him either. She looked over their group coolly, appraising each member—until her eyes landed on Cullen. Alistair felt her fury before she even started casting the spell.

Cullen was thrown back against a tree and left gasping for breath before Alistair could scream his protestations. Hawke leapt at him like a wild animal.

“How _dare_ you show your face here?! After Kirkwall? After what you _wanted_ to do to Anders?” she was shouting and closing the gap between them impossibly fast.

Without thinking, Alistair ran between them. He spread his arms wide, shielding Cullen. He _felt_ her rage as she stopped short a few inches from his face.

“Hawke,” he began, “I understand where you’re coming from… and we can all talk about that later, but _please_ , let’s deal with this responsibly.”

Her eyes widened and flames erupted from her palms. Apparently this wasn’t helping.

“Hawke!” he started again, his tone rising. “We _all_ need your help! We are here asking for shelter for _one_ night before we head out into the wilderness again. Our trip has nothing to do with any of you.” Then he looked at Kieran, “we’re here with a child, for Andraste's sake, Hawke.”

Hawke looked from him to Kieran and back again. Alistair held his breath.

“Fine,” she snarled, closing her fists around the flames. “ _You_ can come in… but _not him_.” She pointed at Cullen. "He’s coming with me."

Before Alistair knew what was happening, three of Hawke’s minions were hauling Cullen away through the huge ironbark gate. He tried unsuccessfully to catch his eye—to tell him he was sorry, to see if he was okay.

“Hawke,” he spit her name venomously, “ _where_ are you taking him?”

“To the prisons. He needs to answer for what he did to us,” her voice was dark and calculating.

Alistair shuddered, “the prisons? Where are _they_? I need to see him.”

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

When Cullen came to he wasn’t sure where he was. He tried to open his eyes and found that the left one was swollen shut. Through the slit of his right eye, he could see that he was in a stone cell. His hands were chained to the wall behind his back and his clothes had been taken. He had been redressed in a tattered pair of pants that barely covered what society demanded. His head was buzzing and his ears rang.

On his right, a tiny window was the only source of light. It appeared to be night—a fire was flickering outside. He decided trying to stand was important. He wasn’t sure what the status of his legs were, though, so he used the wall behind him for support. Half way up he determined that he could _not_ , in fact, stand. He crashed back into the floor unceremoniously. His head throbbed as everything went black again.

 

An hour later, he was awakened by some familiar voices.

“We only have a few minutes. Be careful…” warned Morrigan.

Cullen saw her come around the corner first. Behind her were Dorian and Alistair. He wondered where Kieran was, although he assumed he wasn’t in any danger—no one was likely to harm a child, especially one attached to Morrigan.

“Maker! What have they done to you?” Alistair said through gritted teeth. He crossed to the edge of the cell and knelt down, reaching his hands through the bars.

Cullen tried to reach out for him, but the chains keeping his hands connected to the wall were too short. He let his arms fall feebly and smiled instead.

“How _are_ you?” Alistair asked, wearing worry around his eyes.

Cullen looked down at his body—dried blood and bruises covered his bare chest. “I’m not _dead_ … so that’s something.”

Alistair looked miserable, “I have been screaming at Hawke all day, but it’s no use, they won’t let you out. It took me _hours_ just to get visitation.” He made a sour face.

Dorian knelt next to Alistair on the outside of the gate, “these cells are magically reinforced, so we can’t break you out either. I’ve been thinking of ways to get around them, but there are _so_ many mages here…”

Morrigan spoke again, quieter this time, “what we _can_ do is heal you through the bars. There aren’t any wards against that… Though, if what you _look_ like is any indication, healing you completely is going to take me more time than we have.” She looked at Alistair—he winced.

“Well, any improvement at this point…” said Cullen, the taste of metal on his tongue.

Alistair still hadn’t moved. He was leaning his entire weight against the bars, his arm still coiled through them, as if the chain would magically stretch and allow Cullen to reach him. Cullen realized he _wanted_ to reach him. He wanted to reach through the bars and tangle his fingers in all that unruly red hair and kiss his stubble. Despite the iron chains locking his arms behind him, his muscles twitched involuntarily as he considered it.

Dorian stood and ran his hands up and down the bars—presumably looking for weak spots. His expression was not encouraging.

“Alistair,” said Cullen weakly, “are they going to kill me?”

Alistair’s face turned dark, “They’ll have to get through me first.” Dorian and Morrigan looked pale.

 “I don’t think so,” said Dorian seriously. “If they were planning to kill you, I think you’d be _dead_. Instead, they just beat the shit out of you and left you down here to rot. It seems like Hawke is taking out some aggression.”

Morrigan made a noise that was half way between a laugh and a snarl.

Alistair’s face flushed, “I’m working on this, though. As soon as I get out of here I’m going to make sure they give you some blankets and at least unbind your hands—Andraste, what do they think? You’re going to somehow mount an escape if they take the maker-forsaken-manacles off?”

Cullen scoffed, “You better believe I will.” He attempted a smile, but his face hurt and his weak laugh turned into a cough.

“Okay, stay still,” said Morrigan, spell-weaving.

Alistair’s fingers tightened around one of the bars. It was the visual embodiment of Alistair’s will—it was _literally_ impossible for him to reach Cullen, but he wouldn’t give up. Cullen’s chest felt warm. He wasn’t sure if it was the healing spell or _something else_.

“If I'd had any idea the Champion would be so unreasonable,” began Alistair, “I never would have come in here.”

“You couldn’t have known,” said Dorian darkly. “I always thought she was _all right_. I traveled with her to Adamant and through the fade… it was _terrible_ , but she faced it bravely.”

“A lot has changed since then,” said Morrigan. Her eyes were closed, her mouth had been moving wordlessly before this. She was deep in the fade, but still present enough to speak. Cullen shuddered at how powerful she was.

“What do you mean?” asked Alistair.

“Well,” said Morrigan practically, “She’s been through a lot and her partner has been threatened.” She opened her eyes for a split second to look pointedly at Alistair. “You wouldn't know anything about how _that_ makes people do crazy things, would you?”

Alistair blushed. “I guess I understand it… I’m just so angry… why would Anders let her do this? I _knew_ him! He was one of Bella’s closest friend when he was with the wardens… He had the nicest cat…” now he was just babbling, but Cullen liked it.

“Alistair,” interrupted Cullen gently, “I’m going to be _fine_. We’ll find a way out of this and we’ll be back on our way in no time.” He suspected this was wishful thinking.

“It’s not fine,” argued Alistair. “This is _ridiculous_. What does Hawke think you did anyway?”

Cullen wished he hadn’t asked that. “Alistair,” he said more quietly, “Hawke is angry because I nearly imprisoned Anders a dozen times and considered having him executed… I was instrumental in letting Meredith take political power in Kirkwall, which almost destroyed the city.” He waited for that to sink in. "And finally… I supported these new circles… This whole uprising is based on something _I_ voted for…" Alistair looked deflated. “I _understand_ why she’s angry…”

“Nevertheless,” Dorian chimed in, “ _We_ helped her during the Inquisition and it’s basically her fault Corypheus got out in the first place. I think we are owed some latitude.”

As Morrigan finished her spell, Cullen felt immediately better. He took a deep breath and wasn’t stabbed by the pain of wayward ribs. He smiled at her in thanks.

“That’s all the time we have, I’m afraid,” said Morrigan. “I have an idea about talking to some of the other mages in charge, but I’m not particularly hopeful. I’ll try to let you know what happens.” She turned to leave and Dorian followed her.

Alistair didn’t move.

“I think that means you too,” said Cullen, trying to smile. He didn’t want to be left alone in the dark again, but Alistair was likely to get in trouble if he stayed. His temper was always a problem.

“I can’t move,” said Alistair dramatically. “I think my arm may be stuck,” he joked.

“You should try that one on the guards, I bet they’d love that,” said Cullen. He smiled without meaning to.

“Seriously, Alistair,” he began again, “You need to go. Make sure everyone stays safe. I’ll see you soon.”

Alistair’s mouth moved as if to speak, but he didn’t. He slowly reached his hand deeper into the cell. At full extension he could only reach Cullen’s thigh, but where he touched Cullen felt warm.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Cullen said, trying to be reassuring.

Alistair nodded and turned to leave. He looked back at Cullen and smiled, even though his eyes looked sad.


	34. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hell breaks loose at the mage encampment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The situation is dire, but these two keep getting closer...
> 
> Warning: There is some violence in here that isn't necessarily canon-typical.

**Immediately After**

**_Mage Encampment_ **

**Alistair**

“Morrigan, how are we going to get out of this?” he whispered.

Dorian, Kieran, Morrigan, and he had been thrown into a tent together an hour ago. They were given food and no one had beaten them, but they definitely weren’t welcome in the camp. People stared at them from every corner and Alistair knew the walls had ears. Still, he had to try to make a plan with Morrigan before it was too late.  This might be their _only_ chance to speak freely, albeit quietly.

“There has to be a way to break him out, right?” Alistair asked. He felt frantic.

Morrigan looked at him seriously, “I’m not sure there is…”

“What?” Alistair was horrified, “we’re not leaving him here. That’s out of the question.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, “Alistair, didn’t you want to leave him behind in Denerim two weeks ago?”

She did have a point, but things were _so_ different now.

“Morrigan,” he started again, trying to keep his voice calm, “please—I need your help. Help me get him out.”

Morrigan looked at him—he thought she might be softening.

“They’ve already beat him to a pulp, Morrigan. He’s not going to be able to withstand another beating like that—especially if you’re not here to heal him. He’s going to _die_ without us.” The word _'die'_ caught in Alistair’s throat. His hands were shaking.

Morrigan finally raised a hand, “stop, Alistair… you’ve convinced me. We’ll get him out,” she leaned in to look into his eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. “You are going to owe me for the rest of time,” she glared.

Alistair felt unreasonably grateful—he had never wanted to hug Morrigan so much. He normally would have resisted the urge, but he didn't. Before she could pull away, he wrapped his arms around her back and squished her into his chest.

"Alistair—" she protested. Eventually, she let her body go limp. "Alistair, if you don't let me go _right now_ , I may change my mind."

He loosened his grip on her to look her in the eye. They both smiled.

 

Suddenly, a commotion began outside. Alistair turned toward the sound reflexively and saw the reflections of a crowd on the white tent wall. He couldn't make out the words, but they sounded hostile.

"Morrigan?"

Her eyes darted across the tent. "Wake Kieran and Dorian."

Alistair sprang to action as Morrigan collected herself to go outside and see what was happening.

"Kieran," he shook the little boy's shoulder's gently and Kieran blinked into the candlelight.

"What's going on?" asked Dorian, sitting up.

"I don’t know," answered Alistair. He sat on Kieran's mat and put an arm around his shoulders. "There's something going on outside…"

"Alistair!" Morrigan called from the other side of the tent wall.

Alistair's skin prickled—that was not Morrigan's usual voice.

"Take him," he pushed Kieran into Dorian's arms and crossed to the tent flap. "Get as far away as you can."

Outside, he ran into a wall of smoke and haze. Morrigan was barely visible three feet from him. He coughed and squinted into the dark grey tendrils pluming from magically conjured fires.

"What's going on?" he yelled to Morrigan. His voice barely carried over the hum.

"Look!" she yelled back, pointing ahead.

Alistair trailed her outstretched arm and his eyes landed on a hazy scene unfolding. Hawke and Anders were standing on a wooden stage. It was about six feet higher than the ground and surrounded by dozens of mages, yelling angrily. Above their heads, rigging and posts were assembling themselves magically. He wasn’t sure who was casting the spell, though.

Recognition dawned—these were _gallows_. He stopped breathing, his pulse suddenly racing.

Hawke stepped to the front of the podium and raised her hands. The crowd fell silent. Alistair took two steps back until he was shoulder to shoulder with Morrigan.

"Today is a monumental day!" called Hawke. "Today is the day that we send a _message_ to those who would oppose us."

She looked at the crowd, making eye contact with a few who nodded back to her.

"We tried this _their_ way!" she paused, "we _tried_ to acquiesce to diplomacy! We spent months in meetings and signed treaties, but what did it get us?!" she yelled rhetorically. "Renewed captivity! Suffering!"

The crowd shouted as one, fists and staves in the air.

"Today, we are going to tell the Inquisition that we cannot be dissuaded. That we will _not_ back down until the circles are wiped off the landscape of Thedas— _forever_." Her face darkened and her voice grew deeper, "And that we will use _whatever_ means are necessary."

Alistair was sweating furiously, his breathing ragged and strained. He hoped Dorian and Kieran were _far away_ by now.

"Bring out the prisoner!" yelled Hawke.

 _There he was_ —damaged and small. It looked like Morrigan had never healed him at all—he was bruised and broken; Alistair wondered if he could stand.

"Commander Rutherford has been responsible for the deaths of mages since his youth," she called out to the crowd.

Cullen was carried under the arms by two attendants into the center of the stage. His head was hanging down and his legs were dragging.

"His crimes in the Ferelden circle were heinous enough," she continued, "but what happened in Kirkwall was unconscionable—it demands his _death_."

Alistair was suddenly running. He felt Morrigan's hand on his arm, but he didn't stop. The world was passing in slow motion—his feet hit the earth with syncopated precision until he reached the stage. In one swift movement, he gripped its edge and pulled himself up onto it. The next second he had Anders in a headlock. His arm pulled up around Anders' jaw and Hawke gaped.

"Let Cullen go!" snarled Alistair, choking Anders threateningly.

Hawke's attendants flanked Alistair on all sides, but she raised a hand to stay them.

"Let—him— _go_ ," he repeated.

Hawke and Anders exchanged a look and Hawke reluctantly motioned for Cullen's captors to let him go. His body dropped onto the planks of reclaimed wood with an audible thud. Alistair hurled Anders toward a group of Hawke's supporters. His plan had been to grab Cullen and run, but the six feet between them was prohibitive. In the time it took him to blink pointedly, his base instincts took over.

Opening his eyes, Alistair sprang at Hawke, fists flying. His shoulder connected with her gut and sent them both flying off the podium onto the ground. She broke his fall and was left gasping and furious. Alistair pinned her to the ground and hit her squarely in the face—blood spurted from the corner of her mouth and the skin around her left eye became immediately swollen and red.

Alistair had completely lost control—he lost count of the number of times he hit her.

Morrigan was behind him an instant later. "Get out of here, you idiot!" she yelled.

Alistair blinked, suddenly recognizing the blood coating his hands. He backed away from Hawke—she didn't move, blood trickled out of her left ear.

"Take this," she yelled, throwing a small blue gem at his chest.

He caught it and nodded.

"Get somewhere safe and activate it," she shouted. "Now go!"

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Suddenly, there were arms pulling him upright. His body ached and he couldn't see well. He blinked into the fire and screaming masses around him. The taste of a greater healing potion lingered on his tongue.

"Come on," whispered Alistair.

Cullen's eyes were wide, "What are you doing? Where are the others?"

"They're _safe_ , but there isn't time to explain now. We have to _leave_. Put on these boots," he shoved them into Cullen's hands.

Cullen struggled to get them on. He noticed that there was blood drying on Alistair's knuckles and felt a shiver travel up his spine.

He looked at Alistair expectantly. "Now what?"

"Now? _Run_!" Alistair grabbed his arm and took off into a sprint.

The encampment was chaotic. There were spells whizzing past their heads from every direction. He thought he saw Morrigan flitting past them as a bird, but he couldn't be sure.

           

At the tree line, his chest heaved. Normally, he wouldn't have been winded by this short of a sprint, but he suspected his organs were badly damaged because his vision was blurring. His legs began to buckle ten steps later. Alistair was running, just a few paces ahead, but Cullen could tell the distance between them was growing. For five hundred more feet he managed to stay upright. His foot eventually caught a root, however, and he knew he wasn't going to recover. He saw the ground coming toward his face and barely managed to turn his torso so his shoulder could break his fall.

"Alistair!" he called weakly.

Alistair turned on his heel and was leaning over him in seconds.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

"I doubt it," said Cullen truthfully.

"Then I'll have to carry you…" said Alistair. Cullen thought this was going to be challenging—he guessed he weighed at least twenty pounds more than Alistair did.

"It's fine," said Cullen trying to sit, "just help me get to my feet and then at least I can help a little."

Cullen managed to find some footing with Alistair's arm wrapped around his waist. He hopped and shuffled for the next several hours. He could see the sweat forming on Alistair's brow—this was _backbreaking_. Eventually, they came to a clearing and Alistair gently led Cullen to the ground.

"This will be a good campsite," said Alistair, his breathing labored.

"What's the plan?" asked Cullen.

Alistair reached out to place a hand on Cullen's forearm, but retracted it almost immediately—the blood was apparent.

"What _happened_?" asked Cullen.

Alistair opened his mouth, but closed it again almost immediately.

"Whose blood is that?" asked  Cullen, more pointedly.

"Hawke's," said Alistair.

Cullen waited for Alistair to explain it. When he didn't, Cullen started to feel cold.

"What did you _do_ to her?" asked Cullen.

"She's fine," answered Alistair too quickly.

"Alistair—" Cullen wanted to be angry. Alistair's temper was his worst trait.

Alistair closed the space between them and pressed his forehead to Cullen's—it was a physical apology, Cullen thought.

"I _had to_ get you out of there…" said Alistair quietly.

Cullen cleared his throat and coughed, resigned, but nervous. He tipped his head to the side and kissed Alistair desperately. When they separated, Cullen wasn't sure what else to say.

"Morrigan told me to run—so we're going to…" said Alistair. He pressed a palm over his eyes. "Once we get far enough away, I am going to contact her."

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Alistair finished setting up their tent and a small fire a half hour later.

"Okay, Cullen," he extended his arm, "let's just get you into the tent and then we won't have to move you again until you've slept a little."

Cullen grabbed his arm and groaned with effort as he rose.

"Careful," said Alistair, sliding a hand gingerly around Cullen's waist.

Alistair was anxious. He could see a dark purple area forming on Cullen's side—the one that had been against the ground. He had known enough warriors to know that that meant internal bleeding.

"Cullen, are you feeling all right?" he asked tentatively.

"Not great…" Cullen admitted, lying down on the mat. "Why?"

"Nothing," stammered Alistair. He settled in next to him, propped up on an arm, "I mean… it's just that, we are going to need to keep _moving_ … but I'm a little worried…"

Cullen squinted at him.

"Cullen," began Alistair again—more forcefully, "I think you're bleeding." He pointed to the dark purple area of Cullen's side.

Cullen looked down at it placidly; he didn't seem worried. "It's not the worst I've been through," he said, looking up at Alistair. "At least we made it out of there."

           

When the sun set, the woods were cold and damp. Cullen had fallen asleep, resting on Alistair’s cloak as a pillow. Alistair could see he was shivering. This worried him, because although it _was_ chilly, it _wasn’t_ cold enough to shiver—the bleeding must be getting worse. He gently shook him awake.

“Cullen?” he called tentatively.

Cullen didn’t open his eyes, but he bristled. Alistair traced the branch of his throat with a finger and kissed his forehead.

“Cullen?” he said a little louder.

Cullen’s eyes opened impossibly slowly—almost one at a time.

“Cullen,” Alistair said seriously, “I think we need to find you a healer…”

Cullen lifted the blanket to look at his side. He made a face at the growing purple area.

“Well,” said Cullen nonchalantly, “I’ll admit—it doesn’t look good…” Then he smiled, “How _embarrassing_ for you to see me like this…” He laughed.

“I’m serious, Cullen,” he said, frowning.

Cullen grabbed Alistair’s face with both hands and pulled him into a kiss. Alistair knew this was a diversion tactic, but he didn’t stop him. He kissed him until their bodies naturally connected. _That_ was when Cullen yelled.

“Maker!” he screamed, “Okay, you’re right. I need a damn healer.”

Alistair knew it wasn’t funny, but his stubbornness was sort of adorable. He didn’t let himself laugh, but he was smiling stupidly.

“Okay, okay,” said Cullen, “you’ve had your fun… now kiss me— _gently_ —and then we can make a plan.”

Alistair obliged.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

“We could backtrack to Lydes, we’re probably less than a mile outside the town limits—I’m sure they would have the means to help us,” said Cullen thoughtfully.

“I don’t think moving you is a good idea… it seems _reckless_ ,” countered Alistair.

“Well, that means we’d need someone to come to us…” said Cullen. He thought the idea was ridiculous. Whom could they possibly contact in this situation?

“You’re right—that makes no sense…” said Alistair. He looked upset with himself.

“It’s okay,” he realized that Alistair looking unhappy made him feel terrible. “We’ll figure something out—I promise.”

He smiled encouragingly and watched Alistair’s eyes grow light. He wanted to reach up and kiss him, but lifting his torso that much had proven quite painful. Instead, he just barely tipped his chin and Alistair met his lips. Cullen marveled at how in synch they were. It had barely been a few days, but this seemed _different_ —the most amazing relationship he’d ever been in. _Relationship_? He should ask…

He abruptly broke away, leaving Alistair panting into the air between them.

“Alistair, what’s going _on_?” he asked candidly.

“With what?” Alistair looked confused. He lay down in the space next to Cullen and looked up at him.

Now Cullen felt silly—for some reason, he didn’t want to say it. “With _us_ …”

Alistair bristled, “well… I um…” He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “I think we’re good— _together_ ,” he said, dancing around the issue.

Even this little admission made Cullen feel warm. “I think we’re good together too…” Then he felt nervous, “but when we get back to the group, won’t it be… _complex_?” Cullen turned his head to Alistair.

Alistair turned too, until their noses touched. He looked adorably cross eyed from this perspective. “It will…” he said tentatively.

Cullen started to turn his head back to the ceiling.

“—but I don’t care,” said Alistair definitively.

Cullen smiled despite himself. “What will you tell Bella?”

“I’ll tell her I’m… I’m in a relationship… with the most handsome templar in the world,” he was getting animated now. He had turned his whole body back toward Cullen and he was gesturing wildly. “And that I’m not going to take any of her shit about it!”

Cullen laughed, “and I’ll tell her that she can just go jump off a cliff if she disagrees!”

Suddenly Alistair was _not_ laughing. He backed up; his face had turned pale.

“What? Too soon?” Cullen smiled weakly.

“It’s not that,” said Alistair. “It’s— _that’s_ what Bella has to do… That’s why she’s going to the Feral Fjords.”

“What?” said Cullen in disbelief. “She is going to _literally_ jump off a cliff?”

“Into lava…” said Alistair quietly.

“ _Why_?” Cullen asked.

“It’s very complicated…” Alistair began.

 

Late into the night, Alistair explained Bella’s situation. Cullen felt like he was finally getting a sense of why Alistair was always such a nervous wreck. When he was done, Cullen felt drained. He was also starting to feel cold in ways that didn’t seem healthy—he couldn’t really feel his legs below the knee. He was reticent to tell Alistair, though.

“I must be out of my mind,” said Alistair at the end of his story.

Cullen smiled, despite the numbness in his legs. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I have told you a bunch of stories now—each more embarrassing than the last,” he answered plainly.

“Why does that worry you?” asked Cullen, masking a laugh.

Alistair rested his head gently on Cullen’s shoulder. “Because I told you a secret once—a secret that was awfully close to _all this_ ," his voice was muffled. He was talking into the skin of Cullen’s arm. "…and you told everyone I was crazy…"

Cullen felt the tickle of his stubble on the sensitive skin and shivered. "I know… I'm sorry."

Alistair sighed, "You're not going to tell Morrigan I'm stalking you, right?" he smirked, sitting up. "Or… tell Kieran I'm scared to be a father… or tell Dorian I think he's too handsome for his own good?" He laughed.

“I _might_ —be careful." He knew he shouldn't be joking, but he couldn't help it. He felt _new_. He decided it was the blood loss and tried to straighten. When he _couldn’t_ , he knew it was time to handle this. “Alistair,” he said quietly, “I can’t feel my legs…”

Alistair shot up, suddenly frantic. The fear made creases around his eyes and his brow knit. Cullen couldn’t remember a time in his life when anyone had shown him this kind of concern.

“Cullen,” said Alistair carefully, “I’m going to get you through this.”

Cullen believed him.


	35. Lydes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair arrives at Lydes and tries desperately to get medical attention for Cullen, who is unconscious. As per usual, things are not what they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of my favorite 3-chapter arc of the entire story. I relate much more strongly to the Alistair perspective than to any other, and this chapter is a perfect example of why: he's thinking 1000 times more things than he actually says--second-guessing each sentence before he's even said it. Wondering which of his thoughts are actually true, even as he's thinking them.

**The Next Morning**

_**Lydes** _

**Alistair**

By the time the sun was cresting over the mountains, Alistair saw Lydes in the distance. He had never been so happy to see a stupid Orlesian town. In order to move Cullen, he had cannibalized their tent to make a gurney that he could pull. Now, Cullen seemed to be asleep, but Alistair knew better—he had lost consciousness.  Alistair’s first and _only_ plan was to find a healer.

At the entrance gates, a chevalier looked at them suspiciously. Alistair wondered why an elite soldier was guarding a gate. It didn’t feel right.

“Ser,” Alistair said politely, “my friend needs medical attention.” As soon as the word escaped his lips, he felt bad— _friend_? He hoped Cullen couldn't hear him.

The Chevalier didn’t answer, but stepped impossibly close to Alistair and looked at him through his silver helmet. Alistair couldn’t see his face, but he could tell from the way his eyes darted through the slit in the helmet that they were going to have a problem.

“We were attacked in the woods on our way from Ferelden,” explained Alistair, “most of our belongings were destroyed… but I have _coin_ … may we enter?”

“Your friend does not look too good, Ser,” said the Chevalier. His accent was so thick Alistair had to stifle a snicker. “Exactly _what_ attacked you?”

Alistair was getting frustrated; they didn’t have time for this. Cullen needed help now. “Listen,” said Alistair, “we ran into some unfriendly people and then had to travel all night through the woods and I think he’s bleeding out…” he looked at the chevalier’s eyes through the helmet earnestly. “So _please_ … can you let us in?”

The Chevalier crossed his arms and dug in. He was not going to make this easy. Alistair scanned the walls and what he could see of the city behind them. The town was filled with chevaliers, soldiers, and other militia. Alistair considered. He had a few options, none of which were very good. He could draw his sword and run this guy through right here. That’s what he _felt_ like doing, but he knew it would be rather useless because ten more chevaliers would be on him in seconds and he couldn’t protect Cullen while also fighting a group that large.

He could play the king card, but he worried that no one would believe him… what was the king of Ferelden doing out in the woods with some guy? _Not just some guy…_ Alistair’s pulse quickened— _the_ guy… the only one that mattered.

His third option was to appeal to this chevalier’s sense of mercy. He knew that chevaliers were trained to be gracious and just above all else—they had a code and everything. He thought that was the safest option, but he had no idea how to do it. He was already losing his cool and Cullen looked paler by the second.

“Ser,” began Alistair again, “Do you see this man?” he pointed at Cullen and stepped around the gurney so the Chevalier would follow him. “I _love_ him.” The words slipped out of his mouth like a lie, but when they hit the air he wondered if they were true. “If he dies, I will _never_ get over it,” he continued. “So please, Ser, let us through…”

The chevalier seemed to be softening.

“I will go directly to whatever healer or herb dispensary you send me to and I’ll leave the very second we’re done,” he said emphatically.

The chevalier cocked his head to the side appraisingly. It made the feathers on his helmet bristle. “All right, all right…” he said finally. “I will send you with escorts to make sure you do as you say…”

Alistair felt a rush of melancholy when he looked at Cullen again. Two other chevaliers picked up the ends of Cullen’s gurney—what were really two tent stakes—and led Alistair to the town’s healer.

The iron door swung open into an ornate room filled with herbs and potions of all types. A young woman—more of a girl, really—wearing a blue peacock mask was sitting near the fire, pouring over manuscripts. She looked up expectantly when the chevaliers dropped the end of Cullen’s gurney with a thud. Alistair’s temper flared. He looked at Cullen in desperation, trying to ascertain if the fall had damaged him further. He glared at the chevaliers as they left and closed the door behind them.

“What can I do for you?” asked the healer.

“This man,” Alistair realized he wasn’t sure what to call him—that’s probably why he had clumsily said “friend” before. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake, just on the off-chance that Cullen could hear him. Lover? That sounded sordid… He overcorrected to a lie, “—my _husband_ was injured in the woods and he passed out a couple of hours ago.” Alistair liked the way the word rolled around in his mouth—husband. “Before, when he was awake, he told me he couldn’t feel his legs…”

The healer looked at Alistair through her mask. He could tell it was difficult for her to see through the little eye holes, because she kept tipping her chin up and down—a great example of Orlesian ingenuity.

“Get out,” she said suddenly.

“What?” _What did she mean get out?_

“Get out!” she said louder. “I can’t have you crowding me…” she shooed him with her hand and crossed to Cullen.

Alistair didn’t move.

She turned again, clearly irritated. “Do you want me to save him or not?”

Alistair looked at her wide-eyed and eventually turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

Across the square there was some kind of tavern. Unlike a normal, _Ferelden_ , tavern, it was full of ridiculous people in masks drinking maker-knows-what out of dainty teacups. Alistair glowered in displeasure, but had a seat at the bar anyway. He wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to wait.

“You are not from around here, yes?” asked the bartender in a pretentiously Orlesian accent.

“No… I’m not,” answered Alistair. He just wanted to be left alone.

“What brings you to Lydes?” asked the bartender.

Alistair couldn’t tell if she was trying to be friendly or this was just how nosy Orlesians were.

“I—” Alistair wasn’t sure what to say, so he decided to go with the same lie he’d told earlier. He always found that lies were easier to sustain when he repeated them. “My husband was injured and needed healing… so he’s across the way and I’m just trying to wait it out without going insane…”

The woman’s mouth curved into a smile. He couldn’t even _guess_ what her eyes were doing because they were—infuriatingly—covered by another mask.

“That is very sweet of you…” she said, handing him another drink. “That one’s on me.”

Well, at least he was getting free alcohol out of this whole situation. He pulled the small stone out of his pocket. Morrigan said to use it when he needed her—this seemed like the right time. When he crushed it in his palm, it began to glow faintly. He settled into his stool at the bar and prepared to wait it out.

“Alistair?!” called a voice behind him.

He tried to duck down—he really didn’t want to be recognized.

“Alistair?!!” came the voice louder.

He turned, trying to look nonchalant, but his eyes brightened when he saw her, “Isabela? What are you doing in Orlais—again?”

She pushed her way through a group of very drunk Orlesians, their masks askew, and plopped herself down next to him at the bar. The bartender shot her a mistrustful look, but Isabela ignored it.

“Oh you know,” she began evasively, “this and that…. What are _you_ doing here?”

His lying plan was foiled—Isabela knew all the key players. He thought he could be vague enough to make the truth and lie work together, though. “I’m here with Cullen—he was injured and needed healing. He’s across the way,” he pointed out the window to the little building.

“Cullen? As in 'Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath'?” she puffed up her chest and used a nasally voice, then she burst into laughter, “How did you get stuck with that stiff?”

The bartender looked intrigued; she was obviously eavesdropping.

Alistair blushed; he hadn’t heard Cullen’s whole title in a long time. It was a _mouthful_ , but it made him smile ear to ear.

Isabela gaped, “Alistair… you _didn’t_ ….”

He shrugged. She always could see right through him.

“Not that I’m one to judge, but weren’t you seeing some elf the last time we met… some really _powerful_ , _important_ elf?” She winked.

Now the bartender looked absolutely captivated.

“Isabela,” he looked around the bar nervously, “Let’s take this somewhere else, ok?”

She laughed devilishly, “okay, okay… fine…”

They walked outside into the center of town. Like most Orlesian towns, this one had a huge sculptural fountain at its center, depicting some sort of gruesome murder. Alistair rolled his eyes at it in disgust.

“Cullen’s hurt—it’s really bad,” said Alistair, sitting on the edge of the disturbing fountain.

“I’m sorry to hear that, love,” said Isabela. “Anything I can do?”

“I doubt it,” answered Alistair, “but thanks.”

“So…” she scooted closer to him and looked at him mischievously, “ _how_ did this happen?”

He blushed again, “I don’t really know, to be honest…” he pushed a hand through his hair, “one second we hate each other… the next second…”

“—you _docked_ in his _harbor_?” Isabela joked.

Alistair laughed, “Isabela! Stop!”

“Oh…” she raised her eyebrows teasingly, “the other way around, then… I see how it is…” she laughed again.

For some reason, Isabela could say the most _ridiculously personal_ things and get away with it. She had always been like that.

Just then, the girl in the peacock mask stepped out into the square, walking somewhere fast. Alistair jumped up, planning to intersect her; Isabela was right behind him.

“Excuse me,” called Alistair. The girl was still walking very fast, “excuse me! Where are you going?”

She shook her head in his direction and broke into a run. His first inclination was to run after her, but he soon realized she was running _away_ from Cullen—what was happening in her shop? Isabela must have picked up on the strangeness too, because she paused.

“I’ll catch her, you check on Cullen!” she called, sprinting off in the direction of the girl.

 

Alistair opened the door as quietly as he could. He didn’t immediately see anything out of the ordinary. He stepped inside and looked at Cullen—still lying unconscious. If anything, he looked _worse_. Alistair felt like cold water had been poured down his neck. He rushed to Cullen’s side. Kneeling alongside his cot, he took one of Cullen's hands and pressed his lips to the cool skin.

“That’s quite enough,” said a gruff voice behind him.

Alistair whirled.

“Nice stunt back there,” said Hawke. The first time Alistair met the Champion she had been sarcastic and smug. Today, the same lines were etched into her face, but hardened by years of struggle.

Alistair stood slowly. “Hawke, we’re not here to hurt you. I’m just trying to heal Cullen and get back on our way.”

Hawke glared at him. “What’s your interest in him anyway?” She pointed at Cullen’s unconscious face and Alistair reflexively looked. His lips were slightly blue now. Alistair’s breath caught in his throat.

“We are on our way to find the Hero of Ferelden and the Inquisitor,” he said plainly. “We have had a _really_ hard go of it, so we’re here in this _stupid_ Orlesian town trying to get back on track.” For the first time in ages he didn’t feel angry or snarky; he just felt _scared_.

Just then, the door burst open and Alistair saw the glint of one of Isabela’s daggers first. It was to the throat of the peacock mask girl, who was whimpering. Isabela walked her in slowly.

“That’s enough, Hawke!” she yelled over her prisoner’s shoulder.

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Isabela, what are you doing here?”

“Shit, Hawke,” Isabela looked disappointed, “What is the _point_ of this?”

The peacock girl took a deeper breath as Isabela’s dagger relaxed slightly at her throat. Alistair looked from face to face, the tension was high, but he felt the most strain from the unconscious commander behind him. While Hawke and Isabela were arguing he considered kneeling down next to the cot again—he doubted they would even notice.

“Shouldn’t you be handling your _rebellion_?” asked Isabela. Alistair knew she was angry, but her voice floated above the crowd effortlessly.

“Worry about yourself, Isabela,” said Hawke with a sneer, “Don’t you have a ship to get back to? Oh wait… you _don’t_ have a ship, right? You lost it again? Honestly, I can’t keep track…”

Isabela had a glint in her eye. “Actually Hawke,” she smiled devilishly, “my situation has changed—regardless of ships… I have a _crew_ …” In a puff of purple-ish smoke she burst out of sight, leaving the peacock girl shocked and confused—her mask fell to the floor and she reflexively covered her face with her hands.

The room instantly filled with over a dozen pirates, each more fearsome-looking than the one before. At the same time, mages started appearing from every recess of the small shop—at least six or seven had been hiding in plain sight this whole time, apparently. Alistair was standing right in the middle of a _battle_ about to begin.

In the confusion that followed, Alistair finally knelt down next to Cullen. Only now, he was afraid a wayward spell or arrow would harm him, so he spread his arms and chest over Cullen’s torso and tried to keep a hand over his head. This was completely out of control.

Isabela yelled, suddenly next to them. “I need help, Al!”

Alistair was reticent to stand, but she _was_ doing this for them… By the time he was standing, his sword was drawn. He didn’t have a shield currently, so he picked up the broken leg of a chair for his offhand—wood was good for blocking.

Isabela lunged at one of the mages, causing him to step backward. Alistair took two steps to the left and plunged the sword directly through his chest with an upward slant. The tip came out through his throat. Alistair ripped the sword out, leaving the man drowning on the floor. Whirling, two other mages were closing in on Cullen’s cot. Alistair bellowed and swung his sword high overhead before crosscutting from right to left. His sword was so sharp it cut clean through the fabric of their robes and left flaps of skin open in its wake. He knew the cuts were deep when they didn’t bleed immediately.

Isabela called over his shoulder, “behind you!”

Alistair turned again to see Hawke producing a huge orb of blue energy—no doubt this was going to knock everyone back and _possibly_ blow up the whole building in the process. He had to stop her. He hadn’t used his templar training in a _long_ time, but he tried to recall even the smallest internal meditation—he knew there was one for this exact situation. Settling into the inner calm that allowed him to access his magic-canceling abilities he suddenly remembered. Like riding a horse, he fell back into the rhythm. The anti-magic that templars could perform was like a hum—or at least it was to Alistair. A _oneness_ with the fabric of things and with other templars. This was one of the reasons templars worked in groups.

In a matter of seconds, he accessed the right song and had disarmed Hawke. The interesting thing was not that he _could_ still do it, but that he didn’t feel like he totally had. He was pretty sure that Cullen had done this—hell, maybe being unconscious _amplified_ his ability to reach his inner calm. Alistair felt bolstered.

With Hawke thrown back onto the floor by the blast of her magic collapsing, Alistair drew his sword and pointed the tip at her neck. The remaining three mages fell in behind her, but didn’t raise their staves.

“It’s over,” said Alistair darkly.

Isabela was next to him again, “Hawke, just let us get out of here…” She looked disappointed in Hawke. After all, they had been the best of friends once upon a time.

Hawke looked up, her eyes full of anger, “Don’t _ever_ let me see your faces again.”

Isabela looked hurt, but she took a deep breath and turned away from Hawke just the same. “Grab his shoulders, I’ll take the feet,” she said to Alistair.

“What? He’s still unconscious… we need help,” argued Alistair.

“Not here…” she gave him a sideways look.

Alistair lowered his sword from Hawke’s neck and turned away from her slowly. He didn’t want to break eye contact in case she was tricking them.

Gently, he gripped Cullen under the shoulders, “One, two, three—lift!” he coached. When they finally got outside, his sigh of relief was cut short. He realized he didn’t know what to do with Cullen now.

“Where are we going to take him?” he asked.

“The docks…” said Isabela. She gestured toward the northern part of the town with her head.

By the time they arrived, Isabela and Alistair were both breathing raggedly. Carrying Cullen under normal circumstances would have been difficult enough, but in this state was it was almost impossible—he was as lifeless as a sack of flour.

Isabela led them to a pile of shipping crates, “let’s put him down here for a second,” she said.

Alistair thought that was sort of insensitive, but his arms were exhausted, so he obliged. He tried to let Cullen down as gently as possible.

“Where now?” asked Alistair.

“Right here!” yelled a small voice.

Alistair whirled. Kieran was leaning over the bow of a huge sailing ship in the dock, the wind blowing through his hair. He smiled when Alistair saw him.

“Kieran!” he yelled. “What are you doing up there?!”

Isabela chimed in, “I’m here because Morrigan knew you’d do something _stupid_ —like come into the closest town,” she laughed brightly.

Alistair felt relief sweep across his body—they were all back together.


	36. Across the Waking Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wakes up on Isabela's ship after nine days of unconsciousness and discovers how much has changed.
> 
> Fluff with just a hint of bittersweetness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said in the last chapter... this arc is my favorite. Super adorable... the calm before the storm, if you will. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments so far. :)

**Nine Days Later**

**Isabela's Ship**

**Cullen**

When Cullen finally woke up his head hurt, but he knew he was improving. Most encouragingly, he could feel his legs. He couldn’t remember how he got here, but he could tell he was in the hull of a ship before he even opened his eyes. He could smell the ocean and hear the waves lapping against the side the ship.

Swinging his legs over the side of his bunk, he attempted a few wobbly steps. Just as he was congratulating himself for making it across the floor, the ship lurched and he went careening into the opposite wall, knocking over a whole stack of buckets and mops. The sound reverberated through the ship, alerting everyone to the fact he was awake.

Alistair came flying down the hatch first. He seemed worried, but the sea air obviously had done wonders for him—he looked refreshed.

“Cullen!” he cautioned, “what are you doing out of bed?” Alistair wrapped his arms around Cullen’s chest and led him back to the small bunk on the port side of the ship.

Cullen was ready to argue until Alistair actually touched him.

“You can’t just get up after a week and expect to walk…” scolded Alistair.

“A week?” asked Cullen.

“Nine days, actually,” said Alistair, tucking Cullen back into bed.

Cullen didn’t want to be tucked in—he wanted to see the water—but he didn’t fight.  Alistair sat down on the edge of his bunk and gripped his hands.

“Where are we?” asked Cullen.

“In the middle of the Waking Sea,” said Alistair. “Isabela came to get us from Lydes.”

“We were in Lydes?” He had missed a lot, apparently.

“Yes,” said Isabela jumping down into the hold, “you also almost bled to death, were in the middle of a pirate-mage skirmish, _and_ got married—all while you were unconscious.”

Alistair’s face burned red.

“What?” asked Cullen. He felt dazed.

Isabela laughed, “That’s a story for another time… Morrigan wants to see how you’re doing. Alistair, can I see you on the deck, please?” With that she pulled herself up the hatch and was gone.

"One second," Alistair smiled. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Much better,” said Cullen. He felt like he might be blushing.

Alistair licked his top lip. He seemed fidgety and nervous.

“Are _you_ okay?” asked Cullen, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just—” Alistair took a deep breath, “you were out for over a week. I know it probably seems like you just saw me a minute ago, but it’s been days and days since I talked to you…”

“And that’s making you _stressed_?” asked Cullen incredulously.

“Well, kind of…” said Alistair. “Listen, Isabela needs me, I have to go…” He trailed off and looked up at the hatch, still not moving from Cullen’s bedside.

Cullen reached up and pulled Alistair’s chin toward him. When their faces were just a few inches apart he spoke through a smirk, “I’ll make it up to you for the _next_ nine days.”

Alistair grinned and kissed him. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay?”

Cullen nodded as Alistair left, passing Morrigan on the way up the hatch.

“Well,” she said, crossing to him, “you look better.”

“I am; thanks to you, I assume” he said appreciatively.

She sat on the edge of his bunk as Alistair had. “Cullen…” Morrigan’s affect was flat, but her eyes were searching him in a way he wasn’t used to.

“I need you to know something…” she continued softly. “I’ve known Alistair a _long_ time…” she paused and looked into each of his eyes so deeply he felt the need to blink, “…and throughout that time I’ve never seen him like this.”

Cullen blushed. _What did that mean?_

“Bella is my best friend, as you know,” she continued, “but she never brought out the _good_ in him—you do.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak. He wanted to say something smart, something sweet, something that would let her know how grateful he was, but he couldn’t find his voice. He settled for looking her squarely in the eyes and nodding. It felt insufficient and awkward even as he did it.

She smiled at him with an expression that smacked of pity. “He’s ruined you as well, then?” she laughed.

He smiled, “…It kind of seems like it…" it was barely more than a whisper. "That's common?" he laughed meagerly.

Morrigan smiled and squeezed his hand. She turned to look surreptitiously around the cabin before leaning in to whisper, “If you ever tell Alistair about this conversation, I will _kill_ you.”

Cullen’s eyes widened, but when she winked, his mouth curved into a hesitant smile.

"Well, then," said Morrigan, dropping his hand. "I suppose that's it. Are you well enough to stand?" she asked.

"I think so," answered Cullen. "I was halfway across the room when Alistair pushed me back into bed," he laughed.

"Ah," said Morrigan, offering Cullen her arm, "he's prone to anxiety… come on."

With a little nod, he was up and walking—albeit shakily. Morrigan led him to the hatch and gripped his hand to help him up. On the deck, the air was warm and fragrant. He filled his lungs with fresh sea air and wondered what he had done to deserve such a turn of fortune. He felt _so_ lucky.

Alistair was at his side a second later, his face in some type of motherly scowl. "What are you doing out of bed?" he asked.

Morrigan rolled her eyes at Alistair, "he's fine… let him get some exercise—or at least some fresh air!"

Alistair grimaced at her, but then turned to Cullen with an absurd smile. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Cullen leaned on the railing at the starboard side of the ship and looked out over the ocean.

"Gorgeous," said Cullen. "You know, I've never traveled like this before. Even when I first left for the Free Marches, I went by a small freighter from Amaranthine to the islands and then another smaller boat to Ostwick."

Isabela called down from the rigging, "That's a travesty, Commander!" Theatrically, she swung on one of the free ropes all the way out over the bow and then alighted on the deck in front of them. She looked incredibly at home on the sea.

Alistair wrapped an arm around Cullen's waist and faced the ocean with him against the rail. Cullen leaned into him. It was the first time in his life he hadn't avoided public contact like this. He wasn't sure what had come over him, exactly—maybe it was the sea air, maybe it was his recent brush with death, maybe it was something _else_ he didn't dare name.

“How many days until we make port?" asked Cullen.

"Isabela thinks another week or so," answered Alistair.

Alistair turned his face to Cullen's and let his nose run through Cullen's beard— _beard_? He realized his facial hair had matured considerably since being unconscious. Suddenly insecure, he ran his palm over the new growth and looked at Alistair questioningly.

"I think it's nice," said Alistair. He brushed the back of his fingers against Cullen's face and smiled. "Softer than the stubble."

"I'm not sure I'll keep it," said Cullen. "I'm not used to it."

Alistair shrugged, "I'll like you either way."

Suddenly, a small pair of hands pushed between their waists. Cullen turned, fixing his gaze on Kieran, who had slid himself between the two of them and was standing on his tiptoes to see out over the railing.

"Cullen! You're up!" he said, squinting into the sun.

Alistair let his arm fall around Kieran's shoulders and Cullen kneeled to look at Kieran eye to eye.

"I am," Cullen said smiling, "I hope you weren't worried…"

Kieran made a face, "I wasn't nearly as worried as my dad…" He rolled his eyes just like Morrigan would have.

Cullen exchanged a look with Alistair. It was the first time he'd heard Kieran call him that— _dad_.

Alistair picked up Kieran around the waist and held him over the side of the boat, "All right, that's enough of that…" Kieran flailed and Alistair laughed.

"Cullen!" yelled Kieran, reaching toward him. Cullen gripped his little hands and pulled him away from Alistair.

When he was safely back on the ground and still laughing he said, "at least I can count on _one of you_!" Panting, he ran toward the port side of the deck where Morrigan was sitting with Dorian.

Cullen wondered what that meant— _one of you_ —as if he and Alistair were interchangeable, or as if they served the same function in Kieran's life.

"A lot must have happened while I was out…" said Cullen warily when they were alone.

"You wouldn't believe how much…" said Alistair, sitting against the side of the ship. He rested his hands on his knees and Cullen joined him. "First, you almost died…" he explained.

"Yeah… I had a feeling about that," said Cullen. "As soon as my legs went numb… that was _not_ a good sign." He reached out to hold Alistair's hand while he talked. "How did you manage to get me to Lydes?"

"Well," said Alistair, "I made the tent into sort of a gurney… and then I screamed at some chevalier to let us into the city."

Cullen laughed, "you yelled at a chevalier? Wasn't that sort of dangerous?"

"It was bloody insane," said Alistair, his face cracking into a huge smile. "I told them if they didn't let me in I would not survive it any better than you would. To be honest, if they hadn't let me in at that point, I have no idea what I would have done."

Cullen realized he sort of remembered this once he heard the story—just scenes… a few words here and there.

His eyes narrowed, "hey… did you tell someone I was your _friend_?"

Alistair looked guilty.

"It's okay," said Cullen. "I get it."

Alistair turned his entire body so he was sitting face to face with Cullen, "It is _so_ not okay. I was just panicking… and we hadn't really talked about what this was— _is_ … I suppose we still haven't…" he trailed off.

"We should?" asked Cullen. He bit his bottom lip.

Alistair nodded and took a deep breath, "I've had a lot of time to think about this—nine days actually—and I think I've narrowed it down to two possible titles…"

Cullen laughed and pushed a hand through his curls.

"Number one: _lover_. I think that sounds sordid—but sexy." He suppressed a laugh, "Number two: _partner_. I like that _better_ … but if it seems too serious to you—"

"It's perfect," interrupted Cullen. "Partner."

Alistair smiled and his eyes sparkled, "okay."

"So then what happened?" asked Cullen.

"Oh boy…" Alistair took a deep breath, "then I tried to get this stupid Orlesian healer to fix you and it turned out she had been bought by Hawke, who tracked us to the city. Luckily, I ran into Isabela before Hawke caught up to me…"

Cullen could feel his expression change—just hearing the story made him worry about Alistair.

"…but as it turns out," continued Alistair, "Morrigan had set the whole thing up with Isabela and Caronel ahead of time—"

"Caronel is here?" asked Cullen.

"Yeah," answered Alistair, "he's over there with Dorian—where else, right?" He smiled. "Yeah, he and Isabela are quite close apparently—she seems to know _everyone_."

Cullen smiled at what he could see of Dorian over Alistair's shoulder.

"Anyway," continued Alistair, "we fought this huge battle… with a bunch of mages and pirates… and I used _templar_ abilities!"

"How?" asked Cullen.

"I don't know—I think _you_ did it, actually; I was going to ask you about that," Alistair made a quizzical expression. "Is it possible that being unconscious could mimic the effects of lyrium?"

Cullen had no idea and shrugged.

"Well," said Alistair, "I think it might… because one second I had no chance at all and the next, the whole room was devoid of magic—I can't explain it any other way than to say that _you_ did it."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you're okay," said Cullen, "but I find that whole thing sort of troubling…"

"I understand it; believe me… but we likely wouldn't have gotten out of there alive had it gone down any other way," said Alistair. He took both of Cullen's hands into his own and squished them. "Then Isabela and I carried you to the docks and we got on the ship… Morrigan fixed you up, and here we are."

"What happened with Kieran?" asked Cullen.

"Oh," said Alistair. He absently wiped a hand across his brow. "Well, he came up to me one of the nights when I was sitting next to your bed—" He looked suddenly nervous.

"You sat next to my bed?" Cullen realized his voice sounded teasing, but he was actually very flattered.

"—yes, _well_ … forget that for now," Alistair was blushing again. "Anyway, Kieran came up to me and told me he hoped you got better because he didn't like how sad I seemed… and then he asked if he could sit there with me all night, since it seemed like the type of thing fathers and sons could do together."

"That must have been hard for you… what did you say?" asked Cullen, his curiosity piqued.

"I nearly _cried_ ," said Alistair. "Instead, I just hugged him until I felt like I could breathe again and then we sat up watching you for signs of change. He took the job incredibly seriously."

"I bet he did…" said Cullen, smiling. "He's the best son you could possibly have, you know. It doesn't matter that the events surrounding his birth are dubious… I think you should claim him… have him legitimized." Cullen suddenly realized that he was giving Alistair extremely personal advice—were they at the stage where that was appropriate?

"You think so?" asked Alistair. He didn't seem fazed by Cullen's guidance at all.

Cullen nodded.

"I suppose you're right," said Alistair. "When we get back, I might need you to call in a favor with Divine Victoria for me—you're friends, right?"

"I'm not sure if we will be anymore by the time I get back—she's close to Icis too, you know…" Cullen wished he hadn't said that. He felt her name on his tongue like acid. He had no idea how to deal with that part of things.

"I know how you feel…" said Alistair, smiling sadly. "I can see it all over your face…"

"It doesn't _mean_ anything," said Cullen, "I just need to think of the right way to tell her… It's not like with you and Bella—Icis didn't do anything wrong…"

They looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. The way these relationships had worked out made Cullen feel a little queasy—there was a lot of overlap, he realized. He tried to change the subject.

"My head is a little fuzzy still… let's talk about this later. Will you walk with me to say hi to Caronel?" He stood up, still a little wobbly, and extended his hand toward Alistair. "I need to apologize for stealing Dorian in the middle of the night to come on this crazy expedition…"

Alistair smiled, "I would love to." He wound a hand around Cullen's back to give him support. Cullen didn't really need it, but he appreciated it anyway.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

With Cullen awake, Alistair focused his attention on helping Isabela with the running of the ship. Growing up he had no interaction with a seafaring life, but he found the whole thing exhilarating. In the morning, he woke up with the sun and snuck out of his bunk to go up to the deck. Topside, the wide wooden planks were smooth and slippery from waves that haphazardly lapped over the sides of the boat. The early morning light made them shine pink and yellow—a kaleidoscope of sunshine. 

At the helm, Isabela was ever-present. No matter how still the water was and no matter how early Alistair got up, Isabela always seemed to be there before him.

"Good morning!" he called on their thirteenth day at sea.

She turned lazily and smiled, breathing in sea air.

"Anything on the horizon today?" he asked.

"Not yet," said Isabela. "We’re making fantastic time, though."

Alistair's brow knit, "I thought we had at least another few days?" Dread had crept into the pit of his stomach. Knowing they were going somewhere to find Bella and Icis was very different than actually going somewhere Icis and Bella would _be._

"We do… maybe a week at most, though," answered Isabela. She looked out over the sea like it was her home. Alistair transiently pictured her as a mermaid and stifled back a laugh.

"I see…" he said, trying to smile. If they _were_ going to make port imminently, he was going to enjoy his last few days of carefree pirate life as much as possible.

"Isabela?" he asked, suddenly excited. "Do you think we could have a party tonight? Here… on the ship?"

Isabela turned to face him, her eyes lit up, "I am never one to turn down a party… What would we be celebrating?"

"Surviving in Lydes, for one," he answered, "and being together in such a lovely group—everyone gets along so nicely…" he smiled foolishly.

"Ah," said Isabela, a laugh on her lips, "I see what this is about…"

Alistair got defensive, "what?" he pursed his lips.

"You're dreading catching them…" she said knowingly.

"I think _dreading_ might be a bit extreme…" he said.

"Ha!" her laugh was light and teasing, "Al, I've known you the better part of a decade, I know dread when I see it on you…" she paused, "Also, I overheard you talking to Cullen the other day—"

"—you were spying on me?" he felt his cheeks flush.

"Not spying! I'm at the helm and you were ten feet away against the hull…" They both laughed. "Anyway, I don't blame you… you boys have gotten yourselves into a pickle…"

Alistair nodded.

"My usual advice would be to run away and never look back… but Morrigan told me about the stakes here— _another blight_?" she looked at him seriously, "You can't gamble with that, love."

He stared into the horizon. She was right—absolutely—but the prospect of seeing Bella and Icis was daunting. His stomach lurched.

"Don't worry, love," said Isabela, with a sideways smile, "I'm sure you'll know what to do when the time comes."


	37. A Pirate's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another beautiful week on the Waking Sea, Cullen and Alistair near their destination. Before disembarking, they discover some things about their past and their beliefs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More adorable shared memories, sweetness, and love. 
> 
> Next chapter: Icis and Bella... finally.

**A Week Later**

**Alistair**

Sun was streaming in through the portholes in the side of the ship, illuminating Cullen’s skin in spots.

“Hey,” said Cullen sleepily.

He nuzzled into Alistair’s hair, draping an arm across his chest. His eyes were still closed. Alistair wanted him to stay that way. _This_ was the way he would always remember him, he was convinced—basically asleep, limbs everywhere, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Good morning…” said Alistair finally. He rolled onto his side under Cullen’s arm so they were face to face. He wanted to be the first thing Cullen saw when he opened his eyes.

Cullen squinted and blinked. “Is it?... a _good_ morning?”

Alistair laughed, “of course… _you’re_ here... we're _pirates_ on the open sea…” He pulled the covers up over their heads and pushed his nose against Cullen’s.

Alistair’s mouth moved slowly—painstakingly cataloguing the curve of Cullen’s lips and the feel of his scar.  When he finally backed off to bring Cullen’s features into focus, he noticed Cullen looked stressed.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, the blanket still shielding them from the reality of daylight.

“We're actually going to find them today, aren't we?" asked Cullen.

Alistair pulled his mouth into a thin line, "I think so…"

Cullen sighed, "I know it's selfish, but I wish we wouldn't—I wish we could just _run_."

"I just had this conversation with Isabela…" Alistair smiled, despite himself. "What does it say about us that we'd rather hide out together in a Blight than face them?"

Cullen smirked. "I just don't want this to _change_ …"

Alistair didn't want it to change either—this had been the happiest month of his life, despite all the danger. But he was afraid of why Cullen was saying that, "You're not sure what you're going to feel like when you see Icis?" he asked. Anticipatory rejection curled around his chest, restricting his breathing.

Cullen's brow furrowed. "That isn't it _at all_."

Alistair tried to be brave, but the corners of his mouth pulled down on their own. "What do you mean?"

"Alistair," said Cullen seriously, "I _love_ you." His grip on Alistair's waist tightened pointedly.

Alistair gaped. He buried his mouth in the skin of Cullen's shoulder. "I love you too."

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

With Alistair in his arms, he became acutely aware of how much he suddenly had to lose. In all his life, Cullen had never held onto anything tightly enough to be afraid of its absence.

"Then we are going to be all right, you know," said Cullen suddenly. "If you love me, I'll _always_ be okay."

Alistair didn't say anything, but he kissed Cullen's neck and exhaled over the moist skin. It sent a chill down Cullen's back. Cullen responded in kind, wrapping a thigh around Alistair's hip. Normally, two fully grown men would not have fit into a bunk this small, but Cullen saw the cramped quarters as a challenge. He smiled transiently.

"What?" asked Alistair, noticing his expression.

Cullen licked his lips, "It's _you_. You're _changing_ me…"

Alistair quirked an eyebrow.

"You make me feel like a boy again…" explained Cullen.

"You were a boy once?" Alistair joked.

Cullen laughed and pulled Alistair under him, rolling dangerously close to the edge of the bunk. "Maybe you make me feel like the boy I _wish_ I was."

Alistair smiled.

"…the boy who kissed you instead of getting irrationally angry every time he had a _feeling_ ," finished Cullen.

Alistair pressed his palms against the flat of Cullen's chest. "It's better this way…"

"How so?" asked Cullen.

"Because there are no questions left—we have been everywhere, done everything, experienced all sorts of weird things… and we _found_ each other," answered Alistair. "There is no question about whether or not this is _right_. I can feel it in every fiber of my being."

Cullen thought his heart might rupture—could happiness be fatal?

Alistair let his hands trail down the planes of Cullen's abdomen. Cullen leaned into his palms and kissed the edge of his jaw. He unintentionally rutted against the inside of Alistair's thigh. A groan escaped from somewhere deep in his throat. He couldn't help it—he'd never wanted anyone so much in his life.

"Shhh," cautioned Alistair.

Cullen smiled, "What I would _give_ to be alone with you for once…" He let his weight drop onto Alistair's torso and settled for breathing the same air, despite the burning coil in his guts.

Alistair ran a palm along the edge of Cullen's back absently. Cullen let his chin rest on Alistair's sternum and tried to discern what he was thinking.

"So… how do you want to handle this?” asked Alistair, "When we arrive, I mean…"

Cullen knew what he meant, “I was just thinking about that,” he sighed. “Honesty is the first step to righteousness,” he quoted the Chant of Light.

Alistair made a face.

"What?" asked Cullen.

"I'm not religious," said Alistair seriously.

“Really?" asked Cullen, backing up to look at him.

"I've seen too much to believe…" answered Alistair, “Besides, I don’t think Andraste approved of _this_ sort of thing…” he gestured to the lack of space between their naked bodies.

Cullen felt butterflies in his stomach just looking at him, but he had more questions. "Did you _ever_ believe? When we were young?"

"Once upon a time, I guess." Alistair squinted at Cullen, "maybe when you were nice to me—those _few_ times…" he laughed, "I probably thought I'd died and gone to the Maker's side…"

Cullen laughed, despite himself. "I've already apologized for all that…"

"…and you've made it up to me… with interest," Alistair grinned devilishly. "In terms of your question… I think I believed like most children do, but I lost my faith early. I just saw so much injustice and the more I learned about the world the less it seemed like the Maker protected it."

Cullen nodded and kissed the top of Alistair's head, rolling back to the inside of the bunk.

“Alistair,” he said suddenly, “do you remember that time I got in trouble for brawling?”

Alistair narrowed his eyes, “I _think_ so… didn’t the sisters make you scrub all the floors for a week?”

Cullen nodded.

“Who were you fighting? Olly?” asked Alistair.

“Olly…” Cullen laughed and sighed, “I broke three of his ribs.”

“That guy always seemed _nice_ to me…” mused Alistair, “Why were you mad at him?”

“Because he said I liked you,” said Cullen, suddenly serious. He turned onto his side to look at Alistair.

Alistair gaped. "It was _that_ horrible to like me?"

"It was horrible because I was committed to the order…" explained Cullen. "I was _dedicated_ to the Chantry."

Alistair nodded. "Hey…" he suddenly smiled, "are you admitting that you officially _liked_ me when we were 16?"

Cullen laughed, "You know I did…"

Alistair curled into Cullen's side and breathed into him. "When did you first know?"

Cullen thought about it for a minute. He inhaled slowly through his nose, collecting his thoughts.

Alistair picked up his head, "It's okay if you don't remember…" he sounded a little sad, though.

"That's not it," said Cullen quickly, "I remember the exact day… I just want to explain it to you in the right way."

Alistair beamed.

"So you had just moved into my room…" began Cullen. "The first thing you did was try to get to know me. You asked me all these questions about my family..."

Alistair laughed, "I remember that! You were so mad."

"I was… but not for the reason you think," said Cullen.

Alistair raised an eyebrow.

"I was mad because you came to sit with me on _my_ bed—with your stupid training gear on," he laughed.

"I remember that part too," mused Alistair. He ran his fingertips across Cullen's chest.

"Do you remember what happened afterwards?" asked Cullen.

Alistair shook his head.

"Well, that's the important part." He smiled, "You finally walked across the room to change. You were sort of bashful about doing it in front of me, I think."

Alistair laughed, "I _do_ remember…"

Cullen smiled, "So I turned away from you and pretended to neaten up my desk area…"

"But you were actually looking—I could tell," added Alistair. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Cullen blushed. "And when I got into bed that night, all my sheets smelled like you—earthy and dirty, but like something I _wanted_ to smell."

"Is that what I smell like now?" asked Alistair, laughing.

Cullen leaned down and buried his nose in Alistair's hair. " _Relatively_ —you smell like the sea too…"

Alistair caught Cullen's lips and dragged his tongue across the bottom one.

"Anyway—I was all confused and raw so I stripped all the sheets off my bed and threw them in the corner in the morning…" continued Cullen. "but when I got back that night, you'd laundered them and made my bed for me… and because _you'd_ washed them with all your other things, they sort of _still_ smelled like you."

Alistair put a palm on Cullen's cheek.

"And I almost  yelled at you about it, but you looked so pleased with yourself, I let it go—resigned to breathe you in all the time…" he laughed.

"You smell amazing, by the way…" said Alistair, "I mean… for a _pirate_."

They both laughed.

 

"Boys?" called Isabela. She hopped down the hatch and made a big show of covering her eyes. "I hope you're decent!" she laughed.

"No you don't," said Alistair.

"That's true…" she admitted.

Cullen pulled the blankets tightly around their waists and backed up a little.

"I just thought you'd want to know we'll be docking in about an hour," she said, sitting on the edge of the bunk across from them.

Cullen wished she'd leave—he felt sort of exposed. Alistair didn't seem to mind, though. She must have picked up on his anxiety, because she took three steps closer and smirked.

"Commander…" she made the title seem like a joke, "are you uncomfortable with me standing here? Exactly what were you doing before I came down?" she laughed girlishly.

"Izz—" Alistair laughed glibly, "give him a break, he's the love of my life." He kissed Cullen's cheek in an alarmingly public display of affection that Cullen _never_ would have normally tolerated.

Isabela looked a little surprised, "Well then… I guess I'll let you get back to _whatever_ you were doing…" she laughed again, "just finish each other up quickly—I need some help on deck."

Alistair rolled his eyes as she disappeared up the hatch.

Cullen felt overwhelmed—he stared down at Alistair in disbelief.

"What?" asked Alistair, suddenly skeptical, "she was _kidding_ , you know… she wants us to get up…" he explained.

"I know," Cullen said quickly, he paused, suddenly nervous, "I'm the love of your _life_?"

"Of course," gaped Alistair, "isn't that what we've been talking about all morning?"

Cullen inhaled, filling his chest. He couldn’t think of the right thing to say. How could he possibly convey what that sentence stirred in him? It was like he had been lost at sea for fifteen years and just spotted a lighthouse in the distance. It was like seeing snow for the first time. It was like finally being _known_.

"We better go," said Alistair gently. He pressed a kiss against Cullen's cheek and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Cullen didn't want to let him get up without making some kind of declaration—something as meaningful as what _he'd_ just said. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Alistair's waist, pressing his chest against Alistair's back and kissed the nape of his neck.

"I'm going to remember _this_ moment too, you know—only _ever_ so much more strongly than I remember anything from our childhoods," he explained. "I love you," he breathed.

Alistair laid a palm over Cullen's hands on his chest and closed his eyes. "I love you too."


	38. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icis and Bella have been traveling together for weeks, but they both have secrets they haven't shared. Alistair et al catch up to them and the group is reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins the final section of the story before the 8 epilogue endings... it's a 7-chapter arc. As always, I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts or geek out about anything DA... so comment or send me a message on tumblr, @ponticle. 
> 
> LOVE!

**Somewhere in Nevarra**

**Icis**

"What do you think the chances are of us actually getting there without being caught?" asked Icis out of the blue one morning. The air was acrid in Nevarra and she wasn't used to her skin being so dry—her knuckles had cracked open and bled already and the points of her ears seemed to be next in line.

Bella smirked at her, "Slim, I think."

Icis glanced at her sideways. They had found a sort of rhythm since leaving Skyhold. Being on the road had made them appreciate each other.  Icis would not have called them _friends_ , but she thought of them as contemporaries, at least.

"Well, we're half-way there…" said Icis hopefully.

"Maker… _Only half_?" asked Bella, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

"By distance, we're definitely farther along than halfway," began Icis, "but we have to cross mountain ranges now, remember? We will be slower…" she said ruefully.

Icis knew they were approaching the Hunterhorn Mountain Range any day now. The closer they got to the Anderfels, the more nervous she became. Although they had both done this trip before, there had been strength in their numbers. She argued with herself silently—would they actually be safe in a smaller group? Would their past experiences here inform their tactics?

"It makes you look crazy when you do that," said Bella, laughing.

"What?" asked Icis, feeling embarrassed.

"Your mouth is moving…” said Bella. 

Icis laughed and ran a palm over her face, “It’s an old habit… to rehearse what I’m going to say… Have I been doing that a lot?” she asked.

Bella nodded.

“Maker…” said Icis. “I am sort of a mess these days…”

Icis looked straight ahead for the next hour. Internally, she debated. What Bella didn’t know was that Icis’ life was becoming more complicated by the second. It started a few weeks ago—just hints. The occasional upset stomach, the sensitivity to smells… She attributed these symptoms to traveling for so long, sleeping so poorly, and eating so little. Over time, though, she had begun to see evidence she could not ignore so easily—most poignantly, a small protrusion below her navel. She hadn’t seen her reflection in a month, but while bathing in a stream a week ago, she couldn’t deny that she looked different. That was when she knew—she was _pregnant_.

 

* * *

 

**Several Nights Later**

**Bella**

“Wake up!” hissed Bella.

Icis woke with a start and blinked into darkness.

Bella’s eyes searched the horizon frantically. She could feel him—Alistair—he was nearby.  Not only that, he had another Grey Warden with him—was it Caronel?

“Icis,” began Bella quietly. “They found us…” Bella crouched beside Icis in their shabby tent. They had become accustomed to sleeping side by side for warmth now that they were beginning to climb the Hunterhorn Mountains. The forests at this level were damp in the day and everything turned to frost at dusk. Their first night, they awakened in their individual tents covered in a thin layer of ice. Since then, they had learned to cope. At first, Bella found this awkward. She still didn’t feel _comfortable_ with Icis—mostly because she could tell Icis was hiding something. She didn’t have any proof, but she felt Icis’ distance.

Icis sat up and squinted in the direction Bella was looking, “I don’t see anything.”

“I can’t see them yet,” said Bella, “I can _feel_ them.”

Icis squared her jaw. “Who is it?”

Bella closed her eyes to focus. “I can sense Alistair and Caronel. I’m sure they’re not alone.”

Icis looked at Bella—fire in her violet eyes. If she felt anxious, she didn’t let a hint of it show. For the first time since they set out together, Bella was at a loss—and Icis seemed like she might have a plan.

“What should we do?” asked Bella.

“We get them to help us,” said Icis. She sounded _sure_. “Some people are leaders, and some are followers… and Bella… we’re _leaders_.” She nodded encouragingly.

Bella agreed with her intrinsically, but Icis was missing one key piece of information. For the last week, Bella had known something was wrong. It began as a soft pinging noise in the periphery of her awareness. Soon, it was a shape that she could see over her shoulder, but never look at directly. Finally, her inner monologue began to hum—the song that haunted her dreams since the Fifth Blight. Bella was changing—and she knew it.

“Bella,” Icis gripped Bella’s shoulders with both hands. “I know you think you’ve been very sneaky… but I can tell you’re not right. They will know too—especially Morrigan. When they see you, our only chance will be to convince them to help us.”

Bella swallowed hard. She thought about hugging the smaller elf, but she stopped just short. Bella peeked out the tent’s mouth and saw a shock of red hair in the distance—a stark contrast to the greenery of the woods—they had made it.   

 

Icis and Bella stood shoulder to shoulder facing the approaching group. In solidarity, Bella grabbed Icis’ hand. Icis squinted at her for a fraction of a second, but softened and squeezed her palm. Her eyes sparkled—flecks of indigo in the night.

Bella watched the specks turn into fully fledged people. Alistair looked refreshed—he always did well traveling, she remembered. Cullen was walking next to him. Bella was surprised to see him—she guessed he was here for Icis. Just behind them walked Dorian and Caronel. They were walking arm-in-arm—it made Bella smile. Lastly, Morrigan and _Kieran_ appeared. Seeing Kieran made Bella’s throat feel tight—if Morrigan thought he was safer on the road than in Denerim then something must be _really_ wrong.

“Hi,” said Alistair sheepishly when he reached them. Cullen looked back and forth between Icis and his feet nervously.

Bella took two steps forward to meet Alistair. In a calculating move, she pushed her head into its usual space below his clavicle. He didn’t hug her back, though—he must be _really_ angry, she thought. When she backed up from him and looked at his face, she felt a strange mixture of emotions—worry and stress, but underneath something calm, still… It was hard to tell.

Backing up, she surveyed the rest of the group. Cullen hadn’t moved toward Icis—apparently he and Alistair had both decided being angry was more important than being reunited with their respective partners. She almost laughed aloud.

“Morrigan,” she called, running to her. She pulled her into a rough hug. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re completely right—this was stupid. I should never have even tried this without you. I’m a moron, etc. etc.” She smiled hopefully.

The corner of Morrigan’s mouth turned up—the closest she ever came to a genuine smile. “Bella,” she began, “I know what _you_ are going to say too… you were thinking about the ‘greater good’ and you didn’t want to endanger anyone, and this is the ‘grey warden way’, am I right?”

Bella laughed. She had never been so happy to be scolded by anyone. “I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered into Morrigan’s ear, still hugging her.

Morrigan gripped both of Bella’s shoulders and pushed her back until they could keep each other in focus. “Don’t _ever_ do something like this again, okay?”

Bella nodded her agreement and knew it was true—because there wouldn’t be a chance to… she would be _dead_.

Kieran tugged on the edge of Bella’s robes, “I missed you,” he said quietly.

Bella kneeled down to look into his face before realizing he had grown considerably. She was a foot shorter than him this way. “I missed you too; what has been going on?” she asked.

Kieran looked nervously over her shoulder at where Alistair and Cullen were standing.

Bella raised an eyebrow, “what is it?”

Morrigan leaned down, “We’ll need to talk about that later…”

Bella squinted at her. It wasn’t like Morrigan to skirt issues—what had _happened_ to them while they were apart?

Icis cleared her throat in the center of the camp, “Now that we’re all together, Bella and I need to tell you something…” Bella ran to stand next to her. Her voice sounded choked even though she was speaking loudly. “Bella needs to die.”

Alistair made a harrumphing sound in his throat. Cullen looked at him in the strangest way—Bella couldn’t discern its meaning, but she felt a chill as she realized it was an expression she’d worn in her youth.

Everyone gasped, except Morrigan who just raised an eyebrow.

“I need to perform a magical rite in the deepest thaig, near where the old gods are entombed," continued Bella, making calculated eye contact with each person in turn. "Icis and I left without you because we didn’t want to endanger you.”

She looked at Icis for encouragement. Icis smiled—barely.

“I still stand by that decision,” said Bella seriously. “…but you’ve found us… and I won’t reject help—these are dire circumstances. So now that we’re together, let’s finish this.” 

Icis and Bella looked at each other and nodded. They were set.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

After he unpacked his things and set up his tent, Cullen felt nervousness building in his gut.  There were only so many tasks he could undertake before he had to tell Icis what had happened. He was trying to decide the best way to say it. On the one hand, he respected her enough to tell her the details—he thought she deserved to know everything if she wanted to. But _would_ she want to? If he were in her position, he would not want to picture—anything, really. Would it be _kinder_ to be stoic?

Alistair slipped in through the end of Cullen’s tent and crawled toward him. “Can I talk to you?” he asked.

Cullen’s eyes scanned the camp over Alistair’s shoulder. "Did anyone see you come in here?" he asked.

"I don’t think so…" answered Alistair. "Does it _matter_?"

Cullen wanted to say no, but something stopped him. He'd been so much braver on the ship. "I want to make sure we handle this delicately."

Alistair furrowed his brow in a way that made Cullen's chest hurt. He looked _disappointed_.  

"I just wanted to tell you something…" said Alistair. He licked his lips nervously. "Bella isn't doing well—I could feel it all the way over here…"

Cullen sat next to him and put a hand on his knee.

"I am not sure what it is, though—do you think I should mention it to Morrigan?" he asked.

"Probably," answered Cullen. "If it feels significant to you…"

Alistair nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn't.

"Are _you_ okay?" asked Cullen.

"I think so…" said Alistair, "I guess I just didn't realize how heavily this was weighing on her. She's really _scared_."

Cullen nodded, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"It's so weird—but when she's scared so am I…" he mumbled.”I guess Caronel must be too… damn wardens." He tried to smile.

"Why don't you go talk to Morrigan while I find Icis, okay?" asked Cullen, edging toward the tent's exit.

Alistair nodded. He tried to muster a brave face, but Cullen could see the scared little boy behind it.

"This is all going to be okay," Cullen said encouragingly, "I just _know_ it."

Alistair reached for him—grabbed his forearms and pulled him back. "I need you."

Cullen nearly cried—it was so pitiful and sweet. "Okay, I'm here."

"…just for a minute…" added Alistair. "Then we can deal with all this—together."

Cullen nodded at him before pulling him into a rough hug. They gripped each other so tightly they could barely breathe in a moment that seemed to last indefinitely.

"Okay," said Alistair, suddenly pulling back. "I'm ready." He smiled. "…can I come back here tonight?" he asked.

"Of course," said Cullen. He assumed Alistair would stay with him, but he guessed that his stupid question about _being seen_ earlier hadn't exactly conveyed how _unhappy_ he'd be sleeping without Alistair next to him. He cursed internally. “I’m sorry I asked if anyone saw you…”

Alistair bit is bottom lip, “…that was sort of mean—like another Cullen I knew…”

Cullen smirked. “That guy is an ass.”

They both laughed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Cullen kissed Alistair’s cheek and moved toward the exit.

"I’ll be waiting… love you," mouthed Alistair as Cullen left the tent.

 

Cullen scanned the camp looking for Icis. Instead, he found Morrigan tending the fire.

“She’s in the woods,” said Morrigan, anticipating his question.

“Are you eavesdropping all the time or are you _actually_ clairvoyant?” he laughed.

“I’ll never tell,” she smiled at him. Since their conversation in the ship, they had become a lot closer—secrets had a way of doing that to people.

"Alistair needs to talk to you, by the way," said Cullen.

She looked at him quizzically, but nodded anyway.

“I’ll be back…” he said, heading into the woods.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Icis heard Cullen's approach before she actually saw him. She knew it was him from the weight of his footfalls—she had learned the unambiguous, rhythmic sound of his feet years ago.

She didn’t turn to face him, but she shifted on her damp log to allow him to sit.

Cullen bristled, "I need to talk to you…" he began.

"Cullen, I'm glad you're here," she said quietly. "There's something I needed to talk to you about as well." Icis was afraid, but she wouldn't be able to keep this secret for much longer anyway—this was as good a time as any.

Cullen looked at her strangely. He looked uncomfortable and appeared to be sweating.

"I don't know how to begin…" she mumbled.

"Then let me," he put a hand on her knee and cleared his throat. "We can't see each other anymore," he said bluntly.

Icis' eyes widened fractionally. She was thrown off and saying she was pregnant _now_ seemed ill-timed. Not that she wanted to _be_ with him anyway. Their recent fling at Skyhold had been a mistake—comfortable and familiar, but fueled by _fear_ , not love.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, "While we were apart, something _happened_ …"

Icis opened her mouth and drew in breath, but before she could say anything else, a scream rang out from the camp behind them.


	39. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella collapses. Morrigan runs to her rescue with the other mages. Meanwhile, Cullen takes on a parental role with Kieran. Alistair marvels at how supported he feels with Cullen beside him. Love and compassion in the midst of tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next couple chapters mark the completion of Alistair's personal character arc for the whole story. It's so cool to see him mature like this. :)

**Bella**

A soft pinging noise began in the back of her awareness and soon filled her periphery—more than white noise, more than voices… it was the song. Something was _deadly_ wrong.

“Morrigan?” she called suddenly, her vision threatening to blur.

“Yes?” Morrigan was at her side a second later, with Alistair two steps behind.

“I’m losing…” she inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. “Something’s _wrong_ ,” she dropped to her knees, suddenly unable to stand.

Morrigan grabbed her around the shoulders before her head hit the ground. She pulled her chin up roughly. "Can you hear me?"

Bella tried to speak, but the song was so loud, she felt disoriented. She managed a nod.

Alistair and Morrigan exchanged a look. Bella was scared.

Next, she heard Icis and Cullen behind her, whispering furtively.

“The closer we get to the Feral Fjords,” began Morrigan, “the harder it is going to be for her to function.”

Bella could no longer open her eyes, but she was still somehow _seeing_. She watched the scene unfold from outside her body.       

Alistair gently swept the hair off of Bella’s brow. Morrigan pulled fade wisps out of thin air and wrapped them around Bella's tortured form.

Morrigan spoke suddenly, “We can't move her right now. I'll know more in a few hours.”

Alistair nodded, “let’s reorganize this a little, though—a closer formation.” He picked her up as easily as he could have picked up Kieran. From this strange vantage point, Bella marveled at how small she looked. For the first time in her life, she felt defeated. She was a shell—a vacuous, conquered, husk.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

He had been pacing for what felt like hours. Inside their largest tent, Morrigan and Dorian were trying desperately to wake Bella while Caronel and Icis bolstered their spells. Cullen had taken on the task of handling Kieran through this ordeal. It was quite a tall order since the woman he considered an aunt had fallen to the ground and couldn't be awakened. It was probably the closest thing Kieran had ever seen to death.

Alistair felt like _he_ should be the one to comfort Kieran, but he didn't know where to start. Cullen was so much smarter and _sweeter_ in these situations. He overheard them talking across the campsite in Kieran's tent, their silhouettes illuminated on the tent wall.

"What if she doesn't wake up?" asked Kieran, choking back a sob.

"She will," said Cullen definitely. He sounded so sure of himself even Alistair was inclined to believe him.

"But what if she _doesn't_?" asked Kieran earnestly. He was a smart boy, after all—he knew the stakes.

"If she doesn't—which is unlikely—" said Cullen, "…we will honor her." He sounded solemn.

"How?" asked Kieran, still whimpering.

"When a warrior dies, they can be honored in a variety of ways." Cullen was teaching now—Alistair knew the special voice he had for that. "Bella is a Grey Warden, so she might get a statue or a monument in her honor…"

Kieran cried a little louder.

Cullen must have decided to change his approach, because Alistair heard him begin again. "We would do something _special_ for her. We would talk about the amazing things she did in her life—the lives she saved, the victories she inspired… and mostly," his voice was softer, "the people she loved…"

There was a moment of silence, during which Alistair thought about going into the tent himself. Before he moved, though, he saw the two silhouettes become one. Kieran's small head was tucked into Cullen's side and he saw the small boy's shadow sob raggedly into Cullen's arms—Cullen was a _natural_ at this.

Alistair cursed his cowardice—but he thanked the Maker for Cullen. If he was going to be weak at least he had someone brave and strong beside him. When the little shadow finally separated and curled into a ball along the bottom edge of the tent, Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. Cullen emerged from the tent a few minutes later and joined Alistair fireside.

"Thank you," said Alistair.

"For what?" asked Cullen. He sat next to Alistair and put an arm around his shoulders.

"For Kieran," Alistair paused. "Do you think I'm the worst parent ever?"

Cullen laughed, "of course not…"

"Well, you handled that fifty times better than I could have," said Alistair ruefully.

"I'm sure that's not true," said Cullen. "It's just that I have siblings…"

"What does that mean?" asked Alistair.

"Growing up with Branson, Mia and Rosalie I learned how to support people…" answered Cullen.

"So are you still close with your sisters and brother?" asked Alistair.

"Mia and I are especially so," said Cullen. "She is probably _furious_ that I haven't written to her in a while…"

"Why don't you?" asked Alistair.

"How would I get a letter to her from here?" asked Cullen.

"Morrigan could help you," said Alistair. Now he was getting excited. His favorite thing about his childhood—maybe the _only_ thing he liked about his childhood—was learning to write. He loved playing with words and phrases. "If you want someone to edit your work, I could help you," he offered.

"I'm not going to let you _read_ the letter," snorted Cullen. " _If_ I write one, it will be private… it's bad enough you read my journal when I'm not around…" he kissed Alistair's forehead.

" _You_ started it!" he laughed, "If you didn't want me to feel _invited_ , you shouldn't have read me an excerpt that one time." He sighed, "So what will you say in the letter, _if you write one_?"

"I usually just tell her what's been going on and that I'm alive…" said Cullen.

Alistair made a face— _what a boring letter_.

"You don't approve, I take it?" asked Cullen.

"It's not that… It's just that you're a _good_ writer… and you're not taking advantage of that without all the details and nuance…" answered Alistair.

"Well, I can't really get into the _details_ of this trip, Alistair…" Cullen looked annoyed.

"Of course not…" replied Alistair. He _wanted_ to ask if Cullen would tell her about _him_ , but he wasn't sure how to say it. He twiddled his thumbs in his lap.

Cullen smirked, "I suppose I could tell her I _met_ the king…" he had seen right through Alistair's silent question.”Is that _nuanced_ enough for you?"

Alistair captured Cullen's hand and squeezed it, "Don't poke fun… I just never had any siblings… I'd like to meet them… and maybe it wouldn't be so awkward if they knew about me _first_ …"

"Why do you think it will be awkward?" asked Cullen.

"I'm not sure exactly…" Alistair closed his eyes tightly and rested his head on Cullen's shoulder. He felt braver _not_ looking at him. "I guess because it's going to be awkward on my end… The _family_ I will introduce you to consists of my sort-of-uncles and my _wife_ …"

Cullen laughed more loudly than usual—Alistair could tell he was smiling, not smirking, based on the noise.

"Alistair," he began softly, once he regained his composure, "it's not going to be strange with my family… they're just going to be stressed when we go to their house because you're their king…"

Alistair swallowed hard, "could we _not_ tell them that part? Let's just go there and see if they recognize me… I'd rather just be the random guy you love and see how they do…"

Cullen laughed again, "You're pretty easily recognizable…" he ran a hand through his red hair pointedly.

"Do you think they'll _mind_?" he asked, still not looking at Cullen.

"Mind what?"

"That we're _together_ …" he was speaking quietly now. His nervousness had settled into his chest and made his breathing shallow. "I mean, there won't be any _Stanton-Rutherford Heirs_ or whatever…" he was trying to make a joke, but it fell flat.

"I was a templar… I gave all that up; remember?" asked Cullen.

"I know… but you're not a templar _now_ …" said Alistair. He breathed out audibly and sat up straight.

"They're not going to care," said Cullen when they finally made eye contact again.

"You might be surprised…" said Dorian from behind them. He had silently exited Bella's tent and was walking toward them.

"What do you mean?" asked Cullen.

Dorian sat next to them, "Family is a strange thing, Commander…" He wiped his brow, "they sometimes do things we aren't expecting when we make a different choice…" He looked back and forth between them.

Alistair knew what he meant. Dorian had apparently been kidnapped and tortured to try to make him conform to a more 'societally-appropriate-standard of behavior', whatever _that_ meant.

"Well, we aren't going to be back there for maker-knows-how-long," said Alistair, trying to break the tension that had fallen over all of them. "Maybe we'll all _die_ out here and not have to deal with it…" he laughed morbidly.

Dorian smiled; he had a dark sense of humor. Cullen didn't laugh, though.

“Alistair,” Cullen cleared his throat, “They’re going to love you…”

Dorian laughed, “You are the likable sort, Al…”

Alistair blushed. “If I can just avoid doing anything _really_ embarrassing…”

Cullen rumpled Alistair’s hair, “just stick to neutral topics… the weather in Ferelden… relations with Orlais…” He laughed, “I’d stay away from ‘old god souls,’ ‘Kieran’s birth situation’… you know, that kind of thing.”

Alistair realized that this conversation didn’t sound theoretical. “Does this mean you’re already planning to take me there?”

“Of course,” said Cullen. “I love you…” He kissed Alistair’s forehead.

Caronel had approached silently and wrapped his arms around Dorian’s chest as they were talking. “This is saccharine, even for me…” he complained.

Dorian rolled his eyes, “I’ll show _you_ saccharine.”

They all laughed, but Alistair couldn’t help noticing the beads of sweat across Caronel’s brow. Whatever transpired in that tent seemed to be heavily taxing. "What's happening in there?" he asked.

" _Nothing_ , to be honest…" Caronel said ruefully.

Cullen furrowed his brow and Alistair swallowed hard.

"I don’t think we're going to be able to wake her until we get into the thaig…" added Dorian. “Morrigan said that was a possibility, but I didn't believe her until I saw how deeply _locked_ her subconscious is…"

Alistair's gaze drifted to the tent where he could see Morrigan's silhouette leaning over Bella's. Icis’ shadow looked disproportionately large on the far side of the tent.

"I'm going to go talk to Morrigan," said Alistair, standing suddenly.

Cullen and Dorian nodded.

 

* * *

 

"Morrigan?" asked Alistair quietly as he drew back the tent flap. "Is this an okay time to talk?" He looked at Bella, her face pale and lips blue.

"It's as good a time as any," said Morrigan. She sighed and tried to relax her shoulders. "Icis, will you keep an eye on her for a moment?" Icis nodded and Morrigan followed Alistair out.

They walked in silence for at least fifty feet, until they were out of earshot of the others.

"She isn't going to wake," said Morrigan finally.

"Dorian told me he thought as much," said Alistair. "Not until we get her into the thaig?"

"Not at all," said Morrigan quickly. Her face was dark and her cat-like eyes glowed yellow in the moonlight. She looked dangerous.

"What do you mean?" asked Alistair. He realized they had both stopped walking without meaning to. His legs felt like lead.

"If _that body_ wakes up, it’s not going to be her—it's going to be the old god," she looked stoic; her voice was formal, but Alistair could tell she was coming apart on the inside.

"We've lost her," she said despondently, "and there's nothing I can do about it…" she paused and looked at Alistair intensely. "I have been in the fade all night, trying to find answers where the others cannot go—she's _gone_."

Alistair's mouth went dry. He was _reeling_. He hadn't said anything to her when he'd arrived—he hadn't even hugged her back because he could feel Cullen in his periphery. He had lost her… Bella… she was _dead_.

"Alistair?" asked Morrigan.

He looked at her, focusing again. She had tears in her eyes. He had never seen her cry. Without thinking, he hugged her. She rested her chin on his shoulder and he cradled the back of her head.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, suddenly sobbing.

"I don't know," her voice cracked and her body went limp against his. He gripped her tighter and they cried together, lamenting the person they loved. As Alistair examined his thoughts, he realized that Bella was the reason _all_ of this had happened—she orchestrated this from the beginning. He met Morrigan because of her; he lived through the blight because of her; she had given them their son; she had made him a king… She had constructed his entire life up until now—and Morrigan's too.

Morrigan stepped back, suddenly embarrassed of her tears, he guessed. She tried to wipe away the evidence with the back of her hand.

"How are we going to handle this with the others?" asked Alistair, trying to steady himself. "We still have to bring her to the thaig, right? Reimas said she can't die any other way… she'll become… _it_ will wake…" he trailed off. He couldn't say it— _archdemon_.

Morrigan nodded and looked down at the ground. "We'll tell them… _everything_."

Alistair squared his jaw and exhaled sharply, trying to gather strength. He imagined telling Dorian and Caronel and Icis and Cullen— _and Kieran_.

"—oh Maker… Kieran… Cullen just told him Bella would be all right, he _just_ fell asleep…" he sputtered.

Morrigan looked at him mournfully. "Kieran is strong… he will survive this… and so will we.

 


	40. Nearing Laysh... Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the group arrives at Laysh, Icis and Dorian have a heart-to-heart. The group splits up to enter the city and Alistair learns a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the culmination of Alistair's character arc. I often read these chapters aloud to people in my life. When I first read this one, I kept getting choked up.

**Several Weeks Later**

**Approaching Laysh**

**Icis**

For weeks they journeyed through snowcapped mountains and scorching deserts. It had been so long since they camped in a town that Icis was beginning to forget what day it was. There was no time to examine their schedule or their feelings; there was only the trek itself and the waves of nausea she had begun to experience. Pretty soon her _situation_ was going to be hard to cover up. She rubbed her abdomen nervously. She had never tried to talk to Cullen about it again after that night in the camp. She knew that wasn't a smart decision, but she felt paralyzed.  So she kept her head down and _walked_ —endlessly.

The saddest thing about this journey was the silence. Since Bella's collapse they would go _days_ without speaking to each other. Alistair and Morrigan led the group, carrying Bella on a makeshift cot between them. Kieran ran next to Cullen, holding his hand. Dorian and Caronel whispered to each other, but no one really talked to Icis except when it was necessary.  To make matters worse, they slept in shifts, just off the path so half the group never had a _chance_ to talk, should they be inspired to do so.

One particularly hot afternoon two days outside of Laysh, Icis strode up next to Dorian, “Can we talk?”

Dorian smiled out of the corner of his mouth, “It _depends_ … do you have anything to say for yourself?”

She looked at him miserably. Arguably, he was one of her best friends and she hadn’t even considered saying goodbye to him before leaving. Even though they had been back together for weeks now, she hadn't known how to broach the topic.

Dorian eventually softened and slapped her on the back, “I understand—danger, intrigue, all that drabble.”

“It’s just that everything I do is so _dangerous_ , Dorian,” said Icis kicking sand as she walked.

“That has never stopped you before,” said Dorian.

“I know,” Icis looked at the ground before explaining, “It’s just that you’re _different_ now. You have Caronel… and he would never forgive me if I got you killed…” she trailed off, her eyes lingering on Caronel's bouncy curls in front of them.

Dorian beamed, “Oh, Icis, you tiny thoughtful creature,” he was laughing and messing up her hair. “…Just don’t do it again,” he said with finality, his smile quickly fading.

It was sweet to see him happy. She had always thought of him as a tragic comedian—making jokes to cover his deep sadness. With Caronel, he was happy for maybe the first real time.

There was a time when Icis was _happy_. Her eyes trailed Alistair’s back and for a split-second she was in her room in Skyhold—sun all around them, eating grapes. Her ‘happiness’ consisted of a single 72-hour period. Now, she could barely remember what a grape tasted like. Thinking about grapes highlighted the sand that had inexplicably ended up in her mouth and another wave of sickness that was threatening to make her spill what little breakfast she had eaten.

Dorian looked at her wide-eyed, "what’s _wrong_ with you?"

"It's nothing—I'm just a little sick…" she covered her mouth to stop from retching.

"No, you're not," said Dorian in a distressed whisper. He pushed her to the side of the poorly delineated path and leaned down to look into her eyes. "What's going on?"

Icis knew there was no point lying, "I'm pregnant…" She looked up at him nervously.

Dorian hung his head and sighed, "This is _horrible_."

Icis wasn't sure _horrible_ was really the right word. She looked at him sourly.

"Have you told anyone else?" asked Dorian, suddenly sounding panicked.

Icis shook her head.

Dorian's eyebrows raised and he blinked, "Cullen is—?"

Icis pursed her lips, "Yes…"

Dorian's eyes darted from person to person ahead of them, "you need to tell him— _now_ ," he said definitely.

"I don't see _why_ ," argued Icis.

Dorian wiped the back of his forearm across his brow nervously. "Because he deserves to _know_ … and because you aren't going to be able to hide it much longer." He looked at her abdomen disapprovingly.

Icis wrung her hands, "It's complicated…"

Dorian exhaled sharply, "Maker, Icis… Alistair deserves to know this too…" He pointedly looked at Alistair's back fifteen feet ahead of them.

Icis swallowed hard, "that's the hardest part…" she said quietly. "Dorian, I'm _in love_ with him…"

His eyes were filled with disbelief. "Are you out of your _mind_?"

"I know. It's so _ridiculous_." She kicked sand as they walked. "But I _never_ would have used blood magic to save his life if I didn't love him. It took a tragedy to realize it, but I think I loved him all along."

Dorian rolled his eyes.

Icis smirked, "it's not like I'm going to demand he loves me too—it's just _messy_ and I don't want to tell him that I am carrying his boyfriend's child."

Dorian managed a weak smile. "That's understating it a bit, Icis…"

She looked up at him, not sure what he meant.

" _Boyfriend_?" he paused, "They are completely devoted to each other. I've never seen anything like that _in my life_."

Icis shivered. She felt sort of sick again.

"I'm not telling you this to _hurt_ you," he held her hand between them. "I'm telling you so that you'll understand—Alistair and Cullen are _one_. _If_ you're going to have this baby—you're having it with both of them."

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

As Laysh came into view, Cullen took an inventory of its defenses. The walled city seemed friendly enough.

"Alistair," he called, taking quick steps to catch him, "Is there anything we should be aware of when we get inside?"

"Not really," said Alistair.

He looked exhausted. Cullen wanted to hold him, or at least grab his hand, but he resisted the urge—it felt wrong to do it while he was carrying Bella's comatose body.

"Well, all of you have been here before, right?" asked Cullen.

Morrigan nodded from his other side, "there isn't anything dangerous here… all the danger exists north."

Alistair looked over his shoulder at Bella. Cullen could tell it was painful for him.

"What are we going to do about _her_?" Alistair asked Morrigan.

"We'll need to carry her in a little less conspicuously…I was thinking we could go in two groups," she answered. "I'll go in with Cullen and Kieran.. and maybe Caronel or something… and then you wait out here with Bella and the others. When everyone has gone to sleep, bring her into the inn secretly," she directed. "I'll signal you."

Cullen thought that was a rather good idea. They didn't need the extra attention of brining a veritable corpse into a walled city with them in broad daylight.

 

A few moments later, they had made preparations for separation. Icis, Alistair and Dorian were in charge of handling Bella in a small clearing amidst some rocks and shrubs that provided cover from the red clay dust storms.

Kieran peeked from behind Alistair's waist to look at Bella. The whole thing had terrified him, Cullen knew.

"Bye, dad," he said hugging Alistair. Then he turned to Bella and whispered, "bye, Bella…"

He ran to Cullen soon afterwards and took his hand. Cullen had become so used to Kieran that he considered him his own son, in a way.

Cullen remembered a transient thought he had months ago—that he would someday have children if he wanted them. He realized now that he _wouldn't_ —but he _would_ have Kieran…he _hoped_. Morrigan had been very tolerant of their relationship, which he appreciated. He wanted to ask her what she thought of the whole thing when they were alone.

Caronel kissed Dorian and their hands stayed intertwined until they were fully extended as Dorian walked away. Cullen could sense the intensity in those fingertips.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, "let's go, lovebirds…"

Dorian laughed as Caronel trotted to catch up to Cullen. "Morrigan," he smiled, "have you never wanted to take a lover? It might do you some good…" called Dorian.

Cullen's eyes narrowed, he wasn't sure Morrigan tolerated being teased.

"How could I, Dorian, when you're already taken?" she laughed. To Cullen's surprise, she _smiled_ —a girlish smile that scared him. Caronel laughed on Cullen's left and the four of them waved goodbye, leaving Icis, Alistair, and Dorian to bake in the sun.

The four of them entered the inn as a far less conspicuous group than they would have with their full company. Morrigan secured two rooms for the group. The innkeeper seemed a bit confused as to why four people would need space for eight, but he didn't argue when Morrigan handed him a heavy pouch of sovereigns.

"I'm going to close my eyes for an hour or two," said Caronel slipping into the first door on the right. Morrigan nodded, opening the door on the left.

Kieran climbed into the top bunk at the far side of the room and was asleep before Cullen finished unpacking.  Morrigan sat at the desk next to Cullen's bed and began to write.

"What are you working on?" asked Cullen curiously.

"Something for Kieran—in case I don't have the chance to tell him…" she said somberly.

Cullen understood. Bella had been here one second and gone the next, if the same fate befell Morrigan, she wanted to be _prepared_.

"About Kieran…" began Cullen, "…I hope you don't mind how things have progressed…"

Morrigan looked up from her parchment, "Of course not… he _adores_ you." She smiled over her shoulder at the snoring child. "He snores like his father, though, doesn't he?" she laughed.

Cullen nodded, smirking.

"If anything should happen to me, Cullen," she took a deep breath, "I hope you will help Alistair look after him… you're much more _suited_ to being a parent than he is…" the words were disparaging, but Cullen knew she meant it as a compliment.

He decided not to argue on Alistair's behalf, "Of course I will."

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

The clearing was suddenly full—his head was swimming with the screams and growls of darkspawn. It was a sound he knew too well—the sound he _dreamed_ before Cullen shook him out of his nightmares. A moment ago everything had been clear, Dorian and Icis were tending a small iron pot filled with stew. Without warning, three hurlocks and a genlock had them surrounded.

Alistair ran to the center and distracted the oncoming group while Icis threw a protection shield over Bella. Dorian ran around to flank the group with hexes. Alistair cut down two of the hurlocks as they barreled toward him. Another few had started to join the fray from his periphery, but Dorian confused them before they got too close. Icis ran up next to Alistair and threw a magical barrier over his armor—it sent a prickling sensation down his spine, but he felt its strength. The genlock was muttering something through cracked green skin and sharp teeth. Icis ran forward and stunned him with electricity, her staff cracking noisily against the ground.

Her instincts were good, but she unfortunately pulled the genlock's attention off of Alistair. As its gaze shifted, Alistair saw recognition dawn in Icis' eyes. The next few seconds happened in slow motion—Alistair had inexplicable time to think. He examined the battlefield: he had essentially two options. He could keep his stance in the middle, protecting Bella from a swarm of hurlocks or he could step aside in favor of protecting Icis from an energy ball that was rapidly hurtling toward her chest. He felt the weight of the decision crushing him. He desperately searched the field for Dorian. When he found him, his heart sank—he was fighting off a group large enough to kill him already.

"Maker forgive me," thought Alistair as he dug in. He watched Icis fall backward, crushed under the weight of the magical orb. He knew her armor was imbued with wards that would spare her, but he felt sickness in the pit of his stomach anyway.

Dorian screamed over his shoulder, "back up!"

Alistair turned to see Dorian dropping a circle of fire on the entire encampment. Alistair dove out of the way, grabbing Icis in his tumble. Rolling both of them toward Bella, he roughly patted the sides of his armor, putting out wayward flames and covered his head, waiting for the explosion that he knew would follow. All at once, twenty darkspawn exploded into flames, sending bloody pieces of gore hurtling everywhere. Alistair tucked his body over Icis', trying to shield her. When he finally opened his eyes, everything was quiet and Dorian was standing victoriously over the clearing, his staff slightly smoking.

"Dorian!" he yelled, "thank the Maker you were here… I thought we were dead…" he smiled, standing up from Icis, who seemed to have been knocked unconscious, but looked okay.

Dorian didn't smile. Instead, his eyes trailed the ground to Icis. A look of horror crossed his noble features and he ran, full speed, toward them.

"It's _fine_ ," said Alistair, "she's been through worse—she just got the wind knocked out of her."

"It's not fine!" yelled Dorian, kneeling next to her. He picked up her torso and rested her head on his lap.

Alistair squinted at him and took a few steps closer. "What do you mean?"

"Damn it, Alistair," he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and began pulling wisps of magic from the fade.

Alistair waited.

Dorian sighed, "she's _pregnant_ … she should have told you."

Alistair swallowed hard.

"…and _not only_ has it made her delicate, it's also made her _stupid_ , apparently," yelled Dorian, shaking Icis' shoulders.

"I don't understand," stammered Alistair.

Dorian looked at him with pity.

He spoke without thinking, "does Cullen already know?..." Then, to himself, "why didn't he tell me?"

Dorian paused, "he doesn't know, Alistair—and I don't think he would have kept that from you."

Alistair breathed out and closed his eyes. "Is she going to be all right?" he asked finally.

"Yes," answered Dorian. "Just give me a few minutes. Check on Bella—I don't think anything hit her, but _still_ …" He pointed to Bella's body on the cot.

 

* * *

 

Alistair crossed to her and leaned over, inspecting her face and body for wounds. It was strange to see her so still. In the past, this would have been her shining moment. She would have used the dying darkspawn as fuel and finished the skirmish before Alistair even got his blade dirty. They hadn't dressed her in armor for the trip—it was hot and it made her too heavy to carry. Instead, she wore one of his dull white tunics. She looked so _small_.

He watched her chest rise and fall in staccato—she wasn't at peace, not yet. How strange to watch this woman he loved die like this—extended indefinitely by dark curses and possession, trapped in a space between life and death.

"Bella," he said quietly, "I don't think you can hear me… but if you _can_ , there are some things I need help with… some things I need to get off my mind."

He leaned over her protectively as he kneeled and pushed a wayward hair off her brow.

"I just found out that Cullen's going to be a father…" he laughed to himself, "that might mean that I'm sort of a father again… _kind of_ … in a way…" He took a deep breath to stave off tears.

"…anyway, it's strange not having you here… I know I didn't _handle_ this whole thing properly. I should have found a way to apologize. I made all these crazy promises about our future—the miniature thrones and the parties and children. I realize now that it was crazy, but I meant it at the time—I _tried_ to mean it all the time… and then this _thing_ happened… this thing with Cullen."

"—and suddenly, everything was different. It was like my whole life spun upside down and I knew things I had no business knowing—like how to love someone more than _myself_."

A tear fell down his cheek silently, "Bella, I wish I'd learned that for you. I can't help but think I stole your whole life… now I'm getting to make a new one and you're not here to make one of your own."

He wiped his sleeve across his cheeks and took a few deep breaths.

"Anyway, Bel…" he began again, "the point is, _I love you_ … maybe not like I thought I did, but I know what it _means_ better than I ever did back then, anyway." He sighed, "I'm going to do everything I can to finish this in a way that makes you proud." He kissed her forehead and collected himself as he heard Dorian approaching.

 

"Icis is awake and I think you should talk to her," said Dorian. He looked cross, but relieved.

Alistair nodded and blinked a few times as he straightened. Icis was sitting against a rock thirty feet away, her legs drawn up into her chest. As he approached her, she tightened her grip on her knees and dropped her chin to rest between them.

"Are you all right?" he asked tenderly.

"I think so," said Icis. She looked nervous, but she smiled anyway.

Alistair sat cross-legged and scooted closer until their legs bumped. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to be in contact with her.

"I should have told you," she said.

"I don't know if that's true…" said Alistair, smiling, "I sure have kept a lot of secrets from _you_ …" he sighed. "I _do_ think you should have told Cullen, though… he should probably know…" he smiled.

Icis let her legs drop to the sides and cross, matching Alistair's posture. Her eyes sparkled, more purple than ever. "Alistair, we need to bury the hatchet." She reached her hands out and took his.

He sighed, "I was hoping you'd say that." He felt relieved; he didn't want to be her enemy… and now, more than ever, he felt like they were going to be joined… children had a way of doing that to people. He almost laughed; what a dysfunctional, confusing family structure they were all going to have.

"What's funny?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. Apparently, his face had given him away.

"Oh," he blushed, "I was just thinking about our family… the one we sort of have coming…" he looked at her abdomen furtively. "Kieran's going to have a sibling— _sort of_ …"

Icis looked down at the ground, her brow knit. Alistair wondered if she thought he was being presumptuous.

"I didn't mean to imply that I have any _claim_ to him or her… I just meant—never mind," Alistair stumbled over the words nervously. This was _so_ awkward.

"No, I think you're right…" said Icis, speaking carefully. She looked up at him, "I just haven't really talked about this yet… I'm still getting _used_ to it." She laid a hand across her stomach lovingly.

Alistair followed her hand with his eyes. She seemed so different than the woman he'd met in Denerim years ago.

"I need to tell you something," said Icis.

Alistair could tell she was gathering strength for this monologue. He nodded encouragement.

"I'm still in love with you," she said seriously.

Alistair opened his mouth and tried to think of how to apologize or talk her out of it or _something_ , but she raised a hand to stop him.

"…but I respect your relationship," she said. "So I'm happy to never speak of it again."

She wrinkled her nose. Alistair knew that look—she had one more thing to say.

"I _would_ like to know something, though…" she said.

"Anything," he offered.

"That day in my room… the day you punched Cullen… did you do it for me or _for him_?" she asked.

Alistair's breath caught. "For you," he answered. "I was crazy about you—that whole year we looked for Bella, you changed my world."

Icis nodded. The purple in her eyes melted into indigo in a way he hadn't seen before.

"It's strange now, though, isn't it?" mused Alistair. "I never would have predicted this—I didn't _plan_ it, if that's what you're thinking…" he wanted to make sure she knew, "…and I meant everything I ever said to you—I just didn't mean it _enough_ , I wasn't _capable_."

Icis nodded. Alistair hoped she understood.

"Anyway," she said, waving her hand dismissively, "let's retire this… _friends_?" She extended her forearm toward him and he took it, smiling.

"When we go to the inn tonight, please be gentle with Cullen. He's going to be a _wreck_ about this…" Alistair smiled nervously.

" _You_ tell him, then…" said Icis. It came out like a command, but Alistair knew she meant it as a complimentary suggestion.

He looked at Bella on the other side of the clearing and Icis followed his gaze.

"Okay, Icis. I'll finish this tonight… and then we'll get justice— _for her_."

They nodded to each other and Alistair offered her his arm as he stood.

"I'm not _that_ delicate yet," said Icis, a laugh on her lips. She took his hand anyway, though.

"How far along are you?" he asked as they strolled back to Dorian and Bella.

"About four months, I think…" she pulled her robes tight across her body to expose a small protrusion.

"That's rather _far_ …" said Alistair, gaping.

"I know… I just didn't know what to _do_ and everything else seemed so much more important…" explained Icis.

"I understand…" he squeezed her hand and they smiled. "Don't worry—this baby is going to have more than enough people who love her…or him…whatever."


	41. A New Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair tells Cullen about Icis' situation. Cullen is scared, but eventually comes to see that Alistair and he love each other enough to get through anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next group of chapters is the climax of the plot and lead into the divergent endings. :) I'm so excited to share them with you!

**Cullen**

At around midnight, the door swung open and light flooded in from the hallway. Alistair was carrying Bella across his arms.

"I'm going to take her down the hall to a smaller room, okay?" whispered Morrigan.

Alistair nodded, leaving the room briefly and returning a second later, alone. Cullen heard Alistair lock the door and eventually peek up at Kieran's sleeping face. He gently brushed a palm across his cheek and kissed his nose.

"Good night, dear one," he breathed.

Cullen sat up in the larger bed and pulled the covers back. Alistair smiled at him and pulled off his heavy armor as quietly as possible before sliding in next to him.

"Cullen," said Alistair, "I missed you so much today."

"Why?" asked Cullen teasingly. He pulled Alistair closer to him and ignored the scratchiness of their clothes. He just wanted to be near him.

Alistair resisted, though, keeping Cullen at arm's length.

"We nearly _lost_ Icis today—I made a bad decision…" he explained. "…but something good came out of it—something sort of _amazing_ , actually…"

Cullen rolled onto his side, a mirror image of Alistair.

"So… there _is_ something you'll need to understand… Just try to keep calm and let me get through—" Alistair stammered.

"—enough preamble," interrupted Cullen, "tell me already!"

Alistair's face looked grave, "You're having a baby…"

Cullen felt his face drop. In an instant he thought of fifteen unlikely scenarios that would explain what Alistair just said. He _hoped_ it wasn’t that someone had gotten him pregnant with blood magic.

"Icis is pregnant?" Cullen finally said, clearing the cobwebs from his brain.

Alistair nodded.

"But… we haven't been together in…" he swallowed hard, "months…"

Alistair smirked, " _Four_ months, I've been told…"

Cullen was terrified. He felt his face go blank.

"Hey, it's okay…" said Alistair soothingly. He tangled his fingers in Cullen's curls and kissed his neck.

"I'm so sorry," said Cullen.

Alistair shook his head, a hint of confusion passing over his face, "you don't have to be _sorry_ , Cullen—I'm happy for you… for _us_ …" he smiled charmingly.

Cullen exhaled. He thought Alistair was taking this much better than he was.

"Maker…" Cullen rolled onto his back and let his arms fall over his head. He was suddenly sweating. "Is she all right?" He just remembered that the prelude to this conversation was Icis being _injured_.

"She's fine," answered Alistair, leaning over him. "We're _all_ going to be fine…"

Cullen craned his neck and kissed him. "I can't believe this…" He let his eyes drift along the wooden planks in the ceiling. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"She was afraid…" answered Alistair. "and…" he stopped talking—a small noise lurking in the recesses of his throat.

Cullen narrowed his eyes, " _what_?"

Alistair leaned in closer, fully obscuring Cullen's view of the ceiling. "We have… weirdness…" he mumbled. "There are a lot of _feelings_ at play…"

Cullen rolled his eyes, "What does that mean?"

"She was in love with me… _is_ … or something… I'm not sure," Alistair was blushing. "I think we worked it out…"

Cullen felt his face flush.

"Hey," scolded Alistair, "Don't be mad…" he kissed the tip of Cullen's nose.

"I'm not _mad_ ," argued Cullen. He _was_ though… somewhere deep inside. "Or… I'll _try_ not to be…"

"Cullen." Alistair said his name with such intention, it pulled him back from the edge of a million negative thoughts. He refocused on Alistair's big brown eyes. "I love you." He paused. "We're sort of _having a baby_ …"

Cullen pursed his lips and sipped air. He wondered if he was going to pass out.

Alistair smiled—his good mood was apparently unflappable. He settled his face into the crook of Cullen's neck and kissed a line along the branch of his throat.

 

"Dad?" called Kieran from across the room. Cullen stiffened reflexively.

"Yes, Kieran?" said Alistair, turning to face the little boy.

Kieran jumped down from his bunk and crossed the twenty feet of floor space in a few short hops before climbing into their bed.

"I _heard_ that, you know…" he said daringly.

Alistair and Cullen both turned in to face Kieran as he curled into a ball between them.

"And what do you think?" asked Alistair.

"I hope it's a sister…" he said seriously.

Cullen and Alistair looked at each other for an unnaturally long moment and, in tandem, hugged onto the little boy— _their_ boy.

"So are you happy?" asked Cullen.

Kieran nodded and yawned, already beginning to fall asleep again.

Kieran and Alistair were snoring as a unit impossibly fast, but Cullen couldn't sleep. He walked to the desk and looked back. This was _his_ family… a new family, but a fully-formed one. His face felt flushed. He remembered Morrigan's warning… if something should _happen_ … He sat in the chair and began to write.

[Dear Alistair, If anything has happened to me, I want you to know how much I love you. I never expected to have a life like this—I expected something mundane and safe… you're sort of _wild_ … and that used to scare me, but now I think that you're the safest person I've ever met—because you care for people with ferocity. If you're reading this, something must have happened to me… I know that you'll take care of my child as well as Kieran… I hope it's a girl too, now that I think about it. If it is, ask Icis to name her Mia…after my sister. I also hope this letter is superfluous and you never read it… I hope we're old together, sparring in the courtyard in Denerim or yelling at new templar recruits to 'straighten up'… No matter what happens, we'll be _together_ —in this life or the next. Love, Cullen.]

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

The next morning, Icis awoke to Dorian and Caronel laughing quietly from their larger bed. She had been relegated to the bottom bunk below Morrigan, but she didn't think Morrigan was there anymore.

"Good morning, boys," she said sleepily stretching her arms overhead.

"You really are _showing_ now, aren't you?" said Caronel, a laugh in his voice. Dorian elbowed him in the ribs.

"What?" he laughed and rubbed his side, "she really popped overnight… Elves are like that…"

Icis laughed and put both hands on her stomach. She had to admit, it felt _different_. "He's right, Dorian," she said, standing up wobbily, "it all comes at once for elves." She turned to the side and pulled her tunic tight to show Dorian the difference.

He gaped, "wow…"

As she was showing off, the door opened behind her and she whirled to see Cullen standing, transfixed, in the doorway. She slumped her shoulders, hoping to deemphasize her midsection.

"Hi," he said, rushing to her.

His hands were on her waist before she could even attempt the apology she'd prepared.

He smiled ear to ear, "Beautiful…" he kneeled to be at eye-level with the almost-baby and leaned his ear against her.

"Can you hear anything?" she asked, jokingly.

"Just gurgling…" he answered, laughing, "what's that, Baby? Your mother needs to eat something? Oh yes… let's…" He stood and beamed down at her.

"You're not upset?" she asked hesitantly. Behind her she heard Dorian sigh; she could tell he was rolling his eyes.

"Of course he's not mad," called Alistair from the hallway. He sauntered into the room looking exactly as he had in Val Royeaux—regal, but relaxed. He wrapped an arm around Cullen's waist and Icis _tried_ not to wince. "Just as a bit of information, he'd like the baby to be called Mia, if it's a girl…" he laughed.

Cullen made a face.

"Nice letter," said Alistair, a grin brimming on his face. He produced a small folded piece of paper from his breast pocket.

"I should have _known_ you'd go through my things…" Cullen rolled his eyes.

"I think you _wanted_ me to find it… you know I read your journal…" laughed Alistair.

Everyone groaned. They were happy, they were together, and they were safe… the only one who wasn't safe was Bella… _This_ was Bella's time.

Cullen placed his hand in the small of Icis' back and gently pulled her toward the hallway. Everyone else followed.

Alistair was laughing at something behind them, but Icis didn't make out the joke. She had a bad feeling about this—it just didn't seem possible that everything could be going so _well_ for them.

 

* * *

 

Morrigan was standing in their path at the bottom of the stairs. She ushered them over to a quiet table in the corner, where she had already assembled a variety of breakfast foods. The innkeepers must have been very suspicious of her, but she kept doling out the sovereigns, so they didn't complain.

"How are you feeling, Icis?" she asked.

"All right, thanks…" said Icis.

"Good, because it's time to talk about how we move forward," said Morrigan when everyone was seated. She spoke quietly, but intensely. "Obviously, Icis, you can't come with us." Her gaze landed with unexpected weight.

"What?" said Icis, feeling hot.

Cullen put a hand on her forearm, and looked at her with a skeptical eyebrow. On her other side, Dorian was giving her a disapproving look. She settled back into her seat and huffed.

"Similarly," continued Morrigan, "I can't have Kieran in a thaig… that would be _ridiculously_ dangerous."

Alistair nodded his agreement. He was holding Cullen's other hand on the edge of the table.

"So, he can stay here with you," she said to Icis. "I'd rather have Dorian and Caronel stay here as well…"

"I agree," said Alistair, "I've spent a lot of time in the deep roads—we both have—" he nodded at Morrigan, " _trust us_ when we tell you there is no advantage to going down there. It's a _horrible_ place."

"Also remember that Bella will likely wake up when we're down there…" said Morrigan through gritted teeth, "and we have no idea what _that_ will be like.." She looked down at her feet in a rare act of grief.

"It's settled, then," said Alistair, "Dorian, Caronel, Icis, and Kieran will stay here…" He turned to Icis, "I'm trusting you to take care of him, okay?"

She nodded, "of course…"

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, Icis watched as the four of them turned into specks on the horizon. Kieran was looking out the window too.

"Icis," he turned to look at her, "Are you feeling all right?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, smiling, "why wouldn't I be?"

"Everyone has been asking you that all morning…" he answered placidly.

Icis laughed, "Well, I'm tougher than I look." She winked.

"That's what I thought, but my dad and Cullen are awfully _nervous_ about you," he said seriously.

"Well, when they come back you can tell them I'm fine, okay?" she smiled.

He nodded.

Icis wondered if that was true—was she _fine_? Would she be _fine_ if they didn't return? In the back of her mind, she imagined the horrors that could befall them—she knew what lived in the deep roads. If everything went sideways, could Icis raise this child _alone_? In a Blight?


	42. Goodbye to a First Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that everyone has made peace, Morrigan, Alistair and Cullen take Bella across the Donarks to the Thaig Entrance. A variety of unexpected outcomes await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I think I was conceived in a Thaig..." may be my favorite sentence I've written in this whole story. lol.

**Several Weeks Later**

**_The Donarks_ **

**Alistair**

The Donarks were a jungle. He had learned this in school, but he did _not_ have a concept of what that meant until he was trudging through them, carrying Bella. He and Cullen took turns dragging her cot when the area was flat, but now the ground was too wet, too wooded, and too full of disgusting and terrifying bugs to let her drag. Alistair now carried Bella _all the time_. It wasn't hard in and of itself, she was very light and getting _lighter_ all the time—although Morrigan forced her to drink broths and soups, she was losing weight rapidly. The hollows of her cheeks were pronounced and gray and her previously muscular legs were starting to shrivel. Watching her die like this was horrific. Alistair wished he could will the life back into her—shake her until she awoke. But, he reminded himself, no one knew if she was still _in there_ anyway.

"I see it!" yelled Morrigan a moment later. She had materialized twenty feet ahead of them, on top of a hill.

Cullen ran to meet her, but Alistair didn’t have the strength left to run.

"Where?" he asked when he finally caught them.

Morrigan pointed a few hundred feet below them, "there!"

The gate was impressive. At least twenty feet high and ten across. Alistair felt a shiver crawl up his spine and was alarmed to feel Bella twitch in his arms—it was the first time she'd moved on her own volition in weeks.

"Morrigan, I think she feels it too," he said. He tried to keep the alarm out of his voice, but he knew he'd failed from Cullen's expression.

"Must be a Grey Warden thing…" said Morrigan. She was very dismissive of the order, normally, but she seemed interested. "Let's get her down there."

Alistair hopped and pulled Bella up a little higher in his arms.

"Alistair," Cullen approached looking worried, "I can carry her for a while…"

" _No_ ," said Alistair, "I'm fine…" He felt like she was _his_ responsibility.

On the way down the slippery hill, Alistair almost lost his footing a dozen times. Cullen kept catching him by the arm or around his waist. He felt _raw_ —the closer they got to the entrance, the more irritable he felt and the more agitated Bella became. She was thrashing so violently in his arms now that it was hard to hold onto her.

"Shhh," he cooed, trying to calm her. It was no use, though. Her face contorted and sweat formed on her brow.

"Morrigan," called Alistair, "I don't know how much more of this she can take…"

Morrigan looked at Bella's face and concern flickered in her eyes.

"We're almost there. When we get inside, we can reassess…" she said quickly.

At the entrance, Morrigan began muttering something under her breath—an attempt to open the door, no doubt. Cullen and Alistair kneeled with Bella. He still refused to let her out of his sight for a second; he let her torso rest on his lap.

The door opened with a resounding crack. From their position in the valley, Alistair heard it echo from twenty different directions at once. Morrigan motioned for them to follow.

Resting Bella in his arms again, he trailed the others across the threshold. The moment he passed inside, something _changed_ —his skin prickled and his stomach lurched. He doubled over in pain. Gripping Bella's body as tightly as he could, he tried to keep his eyes open as he sank to the ground.

"Alistair?" said Bella, suddenly awake.

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

"Alistair?" she repeated. She tried to stand, but found that her legs wouldn't hold her. Instead, she relaxed into his arms, which were gripping her exceedingly tightly. She blinked, trying to adjust to the lower light inside the cave.

"Bella!" yelled Morrigan, as she crossed to her.

"Morrigan…" she reached out for her and wrapped her arms around her neck, "Maker, you _can_ hear me…" she sighed.

"What do you mean?" asked Cullen, who was over her other shoulder.

"I have been trying to break through for weeks—maybe _months_?" sighed Bella. Tears of joy were welling in her eyes. "I could hear you—all of you— _every word_.” She managed to stand with Morrigan’s help.

Alistair was clutching his head and leaning back against Cullen's chest. He didn't look well. Bella gathered what little strength she had and leaned down toward him.

"Alistair," she said, cupping his face in her hands, "Can you hear me?" she looked into each of his eyes appraisingly.

He nodded weakly.

"Thank you," she smiled. "I heard _everything_ —every time you tried to help me—every conversation… I thought I was going to lose my mind…" She wound a hand around Alistair's neck and pushed her forehead into his. She closed her eyes, as tears threatened again. She couldn't _believe_ she was alive.

"We are going to need to make a small camp in here and assess where to go," said Morrigan.

"That way," said Bella pointing in blackness.

Everyone stared at her.

"It's the song… it's coming from there," she said placidly. "It's also sort of _in my head_ … but I _know_ that’s the right way…" she knew it sounded mad, but she didn’t want them wandering around in here aimlessly any longer than necessary.

She turned to Alistair, "feeling okay?" she asked. The color had begun to return to his cheeks.

"I think so," he said. He still looked dazed. "What _was_ that?"

"Some kind of ward… meant to keep Grey Wardens out…" she answered. "That happened when I was here with Reimas too…luckily she was only a recruit then, but I threw up for hours. You're actually doing much better than I did, Al."

Alistair glared at the door as he stood and dusted himself off. Cullen had a hand on his back protectively.

 

* * *

 

A couple hundred feet deeper into the earth Morrigan found a dead end that seemed like the safest place to camp. Bella immediately began eating—she had never been so hungry in her whole life. That was quite an accomplishment considering how hungry Grey Wardens normally were. Morrigan busied herself with spells and writing something inside her tent. Cullen was sleeping first in order to be on watch in a few hours. Alistair and she were left sitting around a small blue fire.

"Congratulations, by the way," she said to Alistair.

He looked a little surprised. "Thank you," he said eventually.

"And don't be nervous," she continued, "you're very good with Kieran…I'm sure you'll be fine with the new baby."

"So you heard _everything_?" asked Alistair after a pause.

She smiled mischievously, "everything… including some stuff I probably wasn't supposed to…"

He blushed.

"I love you too," she said. "And I know exactly what you mean—we were too young to know what would happen… who we were… besides, you're _perfect_ for each other, Alistair."

She paused and scooted closer to Alistair so their shoulders brushed.

"And—" she almost lost her nerve, "I'm going to _die_ in here." She dropped her head onto his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around her and leaned his head on top of hers.

"So _you_ didn't steal my life, Alistair—you pretty much _made_ it," she blinked into the fire, letting its edges grow hazy. "This is no one's fault. Besides, we always knew we were going to die young…"

"Bella," he argued, "you can't mean that—you have to _fight_ this. Morrigan and I are never going to let you waltz in there and jump."

 _You won't have a choice_ , she thought. There was _one_ advantage to her imprisonment over these past months: she had been able to think—and think she _had_. She devised a plan for separating herself from the group—a series of events and a spell. Now she just had to say goodbye in small ways. This fire—her head on Alistair's shoulder—was goodbye to her first love.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Cullen awoke to someone kissing the back of his neck.

"Is it my turn already?" asked Cullen. "How long have I been asleep?"

Cullen tried to roll over, but Alistair pulled him backward against his chest.

"Morrigan got up an hour early to talk to Bella," his voice was gravelly. He licked the shell of Cullen's ear as he spoke.

"Al…" complained Cullen. "This is inappropriate."

"Someone hasn't informed your body of that," quipped Alistair. His hand found its way inside Cullen's pants.

"Alistair—" Cullen tried to sound cross, but he was laughing as he turned over. "You're unbelievable… we're in a Thaig."

"I think I was _conceived_ in a Thaig…" Alistair said, his eyebrows raised.

Cullen's brow knit, "That's… _something_ …"

They both laughed, despite the darkness of the situation.

"How's Bella doing?" Cullen finally asked.

Alistair retracted his hand. Cullen knew that was for the best, but his body ached at the loss of contact.

"She's still going on about killing herself," said Alistair. He exhaled with effort.

Cullen wrapped a hand around Alistair's neck and pulled their foreheads together. "Well, we're not going to let that happen. Right?"

"Right," whispered Alistair.

Something about his demeanor told Cullen he was agitated.

"How can I _help_ you?" asked Cullen.

Alistair smiled, "You already have…" he mused. "You _still_ love me, right?" he laughed meagerly.

"I'm always going to love you," answered Cullen.

Cullen wasn't sure how long they lied there—foreheads connected, noses brushing—but eventually they must have fallen asleep because the next second, Cullen heard screaming. At first he thought it was coming from inside his head—another nightmare. As he blinked into the darkness, however, he realized they were all around him.

"Alistair?" he yelled, searching the mat next to him with his fingertips. His voice did not manage to rise above the din. He was alone.

He crawled toward the edge of the tent, sword already in hand, and tried to focus. Outside, Morrigan and Bella's spells were whizzing past Alistair, who had dug in at the far end of the cave. He stopped next to Bella as Morrigan ran forward to bolster Alistair's attack.      

The next few moments passed indiscreetly. Shrieks and Shades erupted from the stone around them on every side. Bella and he stood back to back cutting down demon after demon. The more foes they killed, the more seemed to appear in their place. By the time Cullen could no longer _see_ Morrigan and Alistair through the swarms of demons and darkspawn, he knew it was time to yield.

Bella looked up at Cullen suddenly. An expression he couldn't understand was like a mask over her face.

"Bella?" he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned down, "Are you _okay_?"

Bella pursed her lips, "Cullen, I’m sorry." She shook free of his grasp and began chanting something under her breath.

He watched, horrified, as she started to disappear—limb by limb. At the last second, he impulsively grabbed her elbow, which was hanging—dismembered from the rest of her body. She screamed and tried to shake him off, but he dug his fingers into the fabric of her shirt.

Everything went black.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Morrigan and Alistair exchanged a look. All at once they dropped their weapons in a show of surrender. Alistair squinted into the haze to make sure Bella and Cullen had followed suit. His heart sped up when he realized he couldn't see them.

It was then that they saw the source of the attack. The First Warden raised a hand absently and the hordes of attackers backed up into the dark recesses of the thaig.

"Morrigan," hissed Alistair, "where _are_ they?"

Morrigan looked at him, her eyes burning with equal parts fear and fury.

They turned as one to face Avery. Alistair had seen horror in his days—all manner of inexplicable evil—but the look on the First Warden's face surpassed the entirety of his experience by so much that his knees nearly buckled.

"Avery," called Morrigan, suddenly.

The Warden's gaze fell on Morrigan heavily and his mouth turned up into an unpleasant shape.

" _Avery_ ," she repeated. Her voice was soft, almost inviting. "How long has it been?"

"Morrigan," he took two deliberate steps forward. "I had a _feeling_ you'd be here—when Bella first fell unconscious, I could see your hand in the plans."

Alistair held back a gasp.

"How long had you been following her?" asked Morrigan. _If_ she was surprised, she didn't let even a hint of it show.

"That's not important," he said, smiling, "What _is_ important is that she thought I wasn't onto her game." He laughed deeply, "So… where is she?"

Alistair looked at Morrigan questioningly. Something didn't add up. Avery thought _they_ had Bella somewhere, but they thought _he_ had taken her. _Where had she gone?_ And, more terrifyingly, _where_ was Cullen?

Morrigan, whose composure was proving to be unflappable, stepped in front of Alistair.

"Avery, Dear," she began, "we don't have her; neither do you—it strikes me that we might need each other."

Alistair swallowed hard—bargaining with this madman seemed ridiculous. He would have said _no_ outright if he had been alone. But with Cullen next to him one second and _gone_ the next, he stayed silent.

"What are you suggesting?" asked Avery.

"We all know what Bella is doing, don't we?" asked Morrigan rhetorically. "She is _obviously_ trying to get to the lava pits ahead of us so we can't keep her from jumping," Morrigan answered herself, gently pacing. "We all have a vested interest in preventing that, Avery," she stopped short and made intense eye contact with the Warden. " _Don't we_?"

It was a sort of threat—a _dare_. Alistair wondered if the Warden would take the bait. He tried to intuit what Avery was thinking, but he was being blocked somehow.

"If she jumps," continued Morrigan into the silence of the cave, "you'll lose any hope of starting a Blight and _we'll_ lose the Hero of Ferelden." She let the words sink in, "We are going to be working together, Avery."

Alistair realized that Morrigan was using his _name_ as a threat too. As if to say, "I know who you are—underneath all this pretence."

Alistair had never admired Morrigan as much as he did right now.

Avery held her eye contact for an _uncomfortable_ amount of time before shifting his weight and looking down at his boots. Alistair knew it meant that Morrigan had won.


	43. Separated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Cullen find themselves somewhere else after he hitchhikes on her transport spell. Morrigan and Alistair continue to bide their time with the First Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of cute conversations here, despite the impending danger. The calm before the storm.

**Bella**

When Bella appeared, she wasn't sure where she was. The spell she invented was designed to transport her somewhere _else_ —within an acceptable margin of error and _without_ a hitchhiker. She conjured some veilfire and blinked into the green light. Cullen was on the ground rubbing his head. He looked bewildered. She stumbled over to him and leaned down to peer into his eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He scowled at her, "Where are we?"

"I'm not sure, exactly…" she looked around at the cave walls. They were basically indistinguishable from the ones she just left, but the song told her that she was several hundred feet deeper into the thaig than she had been. "But I think it's _far enough_."

"What does that mean?" asked Cullen. He'd gotten to his feet and collected himself enough to look furious.

"Cullen," she approached him gently, "I have to die; _you_ understand that, don't you?"

He swallowed audibly.

She rolled her eyes, "You were willing to make Icis _tranquil_ … Surely, you can see that I'm worse than an abomination."

Cullen shrugged. "A lot has happened since then."

Bella wondered what that meant. She sighed. " _Listen_ …" she pushed a hand through her hair. "I just need to get to the lava pits before they catch me. You can stay here _alone_ or you can help me."

Cullen bit his lip, considering. Bella smiled. It was a gesture that she remembered from when Cullen was young. He had been so nervous in the tower. Things were different then.

"Cullen?" she asked again, more gently.

He nodded, "I'm not promising anything, but I can't very well stay _here_."

 

* * *

 

For the next day they stumbled through the dark, following wherever the song led. She knew this was dangerous. It was just as likely that the song was leading her toward tainting the soul as it was leading her to the lava pits.

The last time she was here, she was with Reimas. Bella heard her sarcastic scoff around every corner. Now that she could remember Reimas fully, it hurt to think she never got to say goodbye. Instead, Icis had left her body in a charred hovel in some godforsaken town in the Anderfels. Reimas deserved _better_.

When she could walk no further, Bella set up a small camp. Once they settled in, she pulled the leather book with the templar insignia from her sack and opened it. While she was reading, she inadvertently laughed aloud.

"What's funny?" asked Cullen.

"Oh…" she scooted closer to him and held open the book. "It's just… Reimas was hilarious—she wrote a lot of it down…like a story… see?"

Cullen took the book out of her hands and scanned the page. His face cracked into a small smile.

 

            ["Ouch!" yelled Reimas. She hit her head on a low-hanging stalactite and swore.

            Bella choked back a laugh.

            "Yeah," said Reimas, rubbing her head, "laugh it up! Just because I'm not dwarf-sized…" she joked.

            "I'm not dwarf-sized!" laughed Bella, "I'm just not a qunari…" she flirted.

            Reimas' face coiled into a smile as she wound an arm around Bella's waist.

            "I take it back, you're the perfect size," she said, laughing.

            She kissed Bella so hard it almost hurt, but Bella didn't try to wriggle out of her arms. Instead, she pulled their chests together and reached up to interlace her fingers behind Reimas' neck. They were actually less than half a foot apart, but after so long without outside contact, everything was becoming a joke.

            "Do you think we're actually going to make it out of here?" asked Reimas.

            "Of course," said Bella, smiling. " _Everyone_ has the soul of an old god attached to them these days—I hear it's all the rage in Orlais…" she joked.]

           

"Thinking back, I remember how nervous I actually was," admitted Bella. "I was good at pretending that nothing bothered me, but I actually recoiled at the very thought of carrying this soul."

Cullen nodded understandingly.

"It wasn't until _after_ I took on the soul that I felt at peace," she let her gaze drift over the fire.

It was the same eerie peace she felt now, actually, but Cullen didn't need to know that. Although it wasn't as annoyingly acute as it had been in those initial days, her senses were definitely becoming heightened again. Right now, for example, she could feel the air hitting against her eyelashes and making them sway, although there was no discernible breeze. She could also hear nugs scratching into the dirt and deepstalkers nesting hundreds of feet above her.

"I just can't believe I'm back here… _purposely_ ," she joked.

Cullen smirked.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

"Shhh!" said Morrigan, putting a finger to her lips.

Alistair huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Alistair," said Morrigan pleadingly, "Keep your voice down…"

"I don't see how I could make this situation any _worse_ with loudness," said Alistair obstinately.

Morrigan rolled her eyes.

"Alistair—" Morrigan put a hand flat on his chest. "Please…"

They had been relegated to a tiny tent. Avery insisted that he needed time to construct a spell that would allow them to find Bella.

"Okay, I'll be quieter…" acquiesced Alistair. "I just don’t understand what the hell is going on. Where _are_ they?"

Morrigan pursed her lips. "I'm not sure… but I don't think they would have been able to leave the thaig."

Alistair nodded.

"They have to be further in," concluded Morrigan.

Alistair was ironically relieved, "So what do we do?" he whispered.

"Okay…" said Morrigan, "We need to get to Bella _first_ —that's our top priority, of course."

"—and Cullen," added Alistair.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, " _and_ Cullen…"

"Once we get within 30 vertical feet I should be able to tell you where she is," said Alistair.

"Good," said Morrigan, "but that means Avery will know too…"

"I'm not necessarily sure that's true," said Alistair cautiously.

Morrigan quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I think I can sense Bella so well because we've known each other for so long—because she's been _in_ my mind more times than I can count," explained Alistair.

Morrigan nodded.

"I have a feeling I'll be able to catch her first."

"For everyone's sake," said Morrigan, "I hope that's true."

           

* * *

 

**Bella**

Two days later—or something like that, she couldn't really tell at these depths—Bella and Cullen were nearing the stone door that was the entrance to the deepest layer of the Thaig. She had mixed feelings about seeing it again.

"Are you all right?" asked Cullen suddenly.

"What?" she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh… yes."

Cullen side-eyed her, "that was convincing…"

Bella laughed morbidly. "I _remember_ this—all of it," she explained. "My perception is getting stronger—just like the last time I was here."

"What do you mean?" asked Cullen.

Bella felt her face become wistful. She looked up at the door and tried to explain, "I remember kissing Reimas in the small room on the other side of this door."

Cullen blushed.

"—every sigh and whimper that passed her beautiful lips," she continued. "At the same time, I can feel Alistair above us—70 or 80 feet, I'd guess. There are spiders beyond that wall," she pointed off to their left. "I can hear them nesting."

Cullen blinked.

"And, Cullen," she laughed again, "I can tell that you're _horrified_ , but you're trying _desperately_ to keep it together."

           

The door loomed over them. Bella didn't have the instructions for constructing the magical key anymore, but her memory was so sharp that she could remember the page—down to the margin notes in blue and purple ink.

" _Ma ghilana mir din'an, ma vehnan. Melana en athim las enast., Tel garas solasan, telanadas."_

"What does that mean?" asked Cullen.

" _Guide me into death, my heart. Now you must endure. Come not to a prideful place, for nothing is inevitable_ ," answered Bella.

Cullen looked at her blankly.

"Creepy, right?" she laughed. "When I first spoke this spell, I didn't know what it meant. I never learned to speak the old tongue."

"But you can speak it now?" asked Cullen.

Bella nodded. "I realized it one morning recently. The words spilled out as easily as liquid from a spring."

The door opened with a crack.

Inside the small room, she took an inventory of its features. The smooth black marble pool was empty, perfectly dry and eerily clean.

"This used to be _full_ ," she told Cullen. "This is where the soul was."

Cullen shivered.

 

Bella sat on the edge of the pool in the center of the room. "There's just one thing I don't understand, Cullen."

He sat next to her and leaned in.

"Why _me_?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Cullen.

" _Why_? Why couldn't Avery just perform the rite himself or force some other Grey Warden minion to become the archdemon?" she asked rhetorically. "I bet some of them would have done it _willingly_."

Bella paused, letting her vision go hazy. "Cullen, none of this makes sense… there's a piece missing."

Cullen bit his lip. "You're right…"

Bella suddenly stood, already reasoning through the facets in her head. "Okay… so let's run through this…" She began to pace. "Avery wanted a Blight."

Cullen nodded.

"To do that, he needed a Grey Warden to become an archdemon…" she continued.

"I don't understand that part," interrupted Cullen. "I thought _anyone_ could become an archdemon… like… if an archdemon is killed by a non-warden, doesn't that person become the new archdemon?"

Bella nodded, "yes… but in terms of _creating_ one from nothing—tainting a dormant soul… I think it _has_ to be a warden."

Cullen nodded. He was starting to look queasy. "Okay, so Avery needed a Grey Warden… but why did he send _you_?"

"That's the part that doesn't make sense…" she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "And another thing… why not have me taint the soul right away?"

Cullen squinted at her.

"Think about it," said Bella seriously, "Why send me all the way up here just to have me come _all the way_ back to civilization and then back _again_?!" she was shouting now.

"I don't know…" mumbled Cullen. "Let's come back to that. What happened next?"

"Well…" Bella resumed her pacing. "Once I got back to Weisshaupt, he erased my memory…"

Cullen looked at her pityingly.

"But he programmed me to come back here… and taint the soul," she continued. "But Reimas preempted him. I don't know why he couldn't compel her..."

"Thank the Maker he couldn't," added Cullen.

Bella shot him a skeptical smile. She wondered if he still believed in the Maker—it seemed like a fairytale to her.

"And then he found out she wasn't compelled and he had her killed…" finished Bella.

Cullen shivered.

"What?" asked Bella.

"It's just that—" he stumbled over the words, "Alistair almost died then too… it's funny… if Icis hadn't saved him, none of this would have happened." He looked miserable. "I owe the best thing _in my life_ to blood magic."

Bella sat next to him. "I can certainly see the irony."

They sat in silence, not looking at each other.

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

Cullen nodded.

"Do you _love_ him?" She looked at him appraisingly. She had a feeling that she would be able to detect the subtle physiological tells of a lie and she wanted to be _sure._

"With everything I am," he answered plainly.

Bella smiled. He was definitely telling the truth.

* * *

 

**Laysh Inn**

**Icis**

“This is getting ridiculous,” said Icis seriously.

Dorian raised his hands in exasperation. “It’s going to take as long as it takes, Icis…”

Icis growled in frustration, “I just don’t understand—did Morrigan leave no special, _secret_ ways to get in touch with her?” She was pacing furiously, “…no emergency plan?”

“Not that we know of,” said Caronel. He’d long since retired to his bed in the corner of the room—too tired to continue this particular argument.

Icis was also rather sick of it, but she had to do _something_. None of them had heard from the others in weeks and she was starting to lose her mind.

“Kieran hasn’t slept in a fortnight,” said Icis quietly.

“He _sleeps_ …” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Barely,” she corrected. “The nightmares are getting worse…”

Caronel sat up, apparently unable to ignore them any longer. “What do you expect, Icis? His parents are _all_ missing… I think it would be odd if he _wasn’t_ having nightmares.”

Icis stopped suddenly. “That’s it. I’m leaving.”

Dorian sighed, “what?”

“You heard me—I’m going after them,” said Icis, turning to fill a small pack with clothes.

“What good will that do?” asked Caronel.

“I have to do _something_ ,” she said sourly. “…and I’m pretty damn powerful, last time I checked.” The anchor on her arm sparked green.

"Stop right there," said Dorian, his staff already raised.

They were at an impasse. She knew neither of them would actually attack each other. They were going to do things her way or his.

"Caronel," she looked down at him coldly, "take care of Kieran. We won't be gone long."

Dorian nodded reluctantly and they were off.

* * *

 

**The Thaig**

**Bella**

Sitting on the edge of the pool, Bella's mind raced. There had to be _something_ unique about her—something that made her a suitable candidate to hold an old god's soul. That was when she remembered the cave walls.

"Cullen," she said suddenly, "just outside this room, an elven script covers the walls from floor to ceiling…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"If we can translate it, maybe it will explain something about this—maybe even why it had to be _me_!" Her voice was getting higher. She felt like this might be the key.

Bella broke into a run, lighting her veilfire torch on the way. By the time she came to stand in front of the walls, she was reading and translating as if it were her native tongue. Cullen was trailing her by a few feet. He looked nervous.

"Don't look so worried, Commander," she called over her shoulder, "what's the worst that can happen?" she laughed.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.

"This first panel begins: _the soul must have its vessel_ ," she began. "See here?" she pointed to one of the ancient carvings. "The word 'its' is etched more deeply than the others."

Cullen's brow furrowed. "That makes it sound like there is a specific vessel for each soul… how could _that_ be?"

Bella shrugged.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

"Morrigan," whispered Alistair. "What's our _plan_ here, exactly?"

Morrigan shot him an annoyed look and kept walking.

From the back of the group, Alistair watched. The dozen or so Grey Wardens ahead of him were surprisingly jovial. He remembered the way it felt to live with other Wardens acutely. He used to love the camaraderie. Right now, he felt each of their minds as if it were his own. Above the hum of their emotional chatter, he tried to discern where Bella was. He couldn't get anything yet.

"I wish Cullen was a Grey Warden," he said under his breath.

"What?" asked Morrigan, irritatedly.

"Nothing…" he mumbled.

"You do _not_ wish that," said Morrigan.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You would wish him an early death?" her tone was sarcastic.

Alistair knew what she meant, though. He would never want anything even remotely like that for Cullen.

"You're right…" he admitted. He realized suddenly that Cullen might be alive for _decades_ after he was gone. He shivered.

"For convenience in this particular situation, though," he added, "I would like it… I bet I could sense him on the other side of the world…" he smiled.

Morrigan rolled her eyes.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

" _What_?" he shouted, suddenly bolt upright.

Bella laughed. "It's okay, Cullen, I’m just trying to tuck you in so you don't die of exposure." She pulled a blanket over Cullen's shoulders.

"Oh…" he relaxed onto the mat.

Bella settled in next to him. Far enough away that they didn't touch, but close enough that he could hear her breathing.

"You think this is awkward…" said Bella. Her tone was utterly unreadable.

"Um…" he mumbled, "a little, I guess…" he pillowed his head on a folded arm.

She laughed again.

"Well…there was a time," he began, " _decades ago_ … that I would have died to lie next to you like this."

She turned to face him and smiled. "I remember…" she paused long enough to fully inhale, "it's funny how things have turned out, isn't it?"

Cullen smiled tentatively.

"I mean… you're in love with my—" she cut herself off. "I’m not even sure what to call him… there's no name for what we were…"

"That must have been hard…" he said gently. "Standing there while he was married to Anora all those years."

Bella nodded. "Well…" she paused, "he still _is_ married to Anora, you know…"

Cullen's eyes widened, but they both laughed.

"You're going to take good care of him, aren't you?" she asked gently.

Cullen nodded.

"Good… because he can be a _bear_ …" she laughed again. "And he _needs_ you…" she smiled up at him sadly. "He told me about some of the things that happened when you were younger…"

Cullen felt embarrassed. "I was awful to him…"

"Not _all_ the time," said Bella. "I think you pretty much _made_ his childhood in the moments when you were sweet."

Cullen smiled.

"He was crazy about you long before he was crazy about me…" she said quietly.

Cullen wondered where this was going. He felt like he should apologize. "Well…" he stammered, "you made him the person he is."

Bella's eyes narrowed, "no… he did that all on his own. He's _powerful_ —even when he doesn't know it."

Cullen thought she was right. Alistair was a driving force—full of good and bad and hope and defeat, but _there_. Always moving forward. If Cullen hadn't already been in love with him, he thought this conversation would have driven him to that outcome.

"Well, Cullen," said Bella, turning onto her back, "get some sleep."

Cullen stared up at the cave's ceiling. In the darkness he could almost imagine that Alistair was sleeping next to him—the feeling of sleeping next to Bella was alarmingly similar, now that he examined it. They were both loud sleepers—lots of moving around, heavy breathing, large presence.

"Wherever you are, Al," he mouthed the words silently, "I hope you're okay. I love you."

 


	44. The Ledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've come full circle... The final fight that ends everything. Cullen and Alistair reunited. Bella on the ledge, trying to make herself jump. 
> 
> This is the last chapter before the endings. See the end of the chapter for more on how those work.

**Alistair**

“Morrigan?” he hissed. “Morrigan?” He grabbed the hook of her arm and leaned into her ear. “I can _feel_ her—we’re going to catch Bella within the day if we keep up this pace.”

Morrigan’s eyes glinted—more yellow than he’d ever seen them.

“She’s absolutely still—I can’t tell why,” he continued.

Morrigan nodded. “We’ll talk about this tonight.”

Alistair stepped back and continued to plod through the caves at the back of the group. He’d gotten into the habit of tuning into a few particular wardens. A young dwarf named Floren was secretly in love with a human, Kane. She’d been bashful about telling him, but she was sending out signals like crazy—offering him ale from flasks and whatnot. It was all very dwarven. The only problem was that Kane was still a recruit—he couldn’t sense that she loved him. Alistair wanted to pull Kane aside and tell him, but it seemed inappropriate. Instead, he resigned himself to observing their budding romance from afar. A lot of their missteps reminded him of his early days with Cullen. Namely, they were always fighting.

He wondered what Cullen was doing right now. He wasn’t afraid for his safety—he knew Bella wouldn’t let anything happen to him—but he missed him viscerally. Whenever he stopped walking long enough to evaluate his thoughts, he realized how deeply connected they were and how much this parting strained it.

 

* * *

 

In their tent that night, Morrigan leaned into Alistair’s face. “How close are we now?” she asked.

“Twenty-five feet?” suggested Alistair, “Maybe less. The others will sense her very soon if they haven’t already.”

Morrigan nodded, “then we need a plan.”

Alistair agreed. He wasn’t sure where to begin, though.

“Do you have any idea what kind of an area she’s in?” asked Morrigan.

Alistair shook his head. “I can’t tell you that kind of thing… just that she’s there and that she isn’t in any imminent danger—she’s not _scared_ , anyway.”

“Well,” postulated Morrigan, “we have to assume that she is near the lava pits—possibly in that room where the soul came from… did she tell you about that?”

Alistair nodded—it had given him nightmares.

“So that might be an ideal choke point,” said Morrigan. “It’s going to come down to _timing_. As soon as possible, we will grab her and—”

“Wait, wait,” Alistair interrupted her emphatically.

Morrigan’s brow furrowed.

“ _Don’t_ tell me,” said Alistair. “If I know, the others might figure out the plan… don’t tell me _any_ details.”

Morrigan dropped her forehead into her palm. “This is going to make things much more difficult…”

Alistair shrugged. He didn’t envy her position.

“All right…” Morrigan took a steadying breath. “Keep your eyes on me—be ready to act.”

Alistair nodded.

           

* * *

 

**Cullen**

“We’ve been over this a hundred times, Bell…” complained Cullen.

She was still pacing back and forth in front of the wall, muttering elven under her breath.

“What does this change—really?” he asked.

She stopped walking and looked at him. “ _Nothing_ ,” she said suddenly. Her pupils darted between his eyes.

“ _Exactly_ ,” groaned Cullen. “You’re still in this situation—regardless of _why_ …” He kicked the dirt with the heel of his boot.

“Maker, Cullen, you’re right…” said Bella, looking miserable. She slumped down next to him on the ground and sighed. “This doesn’t matter… _at all_.”

Cullen felt a little sorry for her—he could see how heavily this realization weighed on her. He put an arm around her shoulder as they stared at the wall they’d wasted _days_ trying to decode.

“I know what it says, you know…” mumbled Bella.

Cullen turned his head to look at her, “You _do_?”

“I figured it out yesterday…” she looked up at him despondently. “I just hadn’t thought of how to tell you—I’m going to die anyway…”

Cullen looked at her pityingly. He was a realist—he had known that all along.

“It says that the soul must find its vessel. The vessel, in this case, is a person who has _touched_ an old god before…” explained Bella. “I’m the only person in the world who has done that and lived…” She dropped her head into her palms and spoke into the skin of her hands. “It doesn’t give us any way _out_ , though…”

Cullen squished her into his side. He wasn’t sure _why_ —they’d never been very close. It just felt right.

“Thank you for this, Cullen,” she said quietly. “You have no idea how good it feels to have someone _accept_ this…”

Cullen smiled sadly. “I might not know what this particular thing feels like… but I know what it’s like to finally be _seen_ …” His chest felt warm just thinking about how different his life was with Alistair in it.

After a long moment, Bella stood up with new resolve. “Okay, I guess there’s no need to delay the inevitable—they’re getting closer all the time…”

Cullen stood with her and they walked through the little room. On its far side was a rock face. It looked solid, but as Bella raised a hand before it, it started to crumble—each individual stone rearranged to reveal a doorway. The second she stepped across its threshold, it started to fill in.

"Bella!" screamed Cullen. He was suddenly frantic. He reached out to grab the rapidly moving little stone pieces, but a bolt of lightning singed his hand. "Ahhh!" he yelled and swore.

Bella turned to look at him—something red flickered behind her eyes. "This is my last chance, Cullen. _Don't_ follow me."

The rest of the wall filled in seconds later. The last thing he saw was her turning toward the ledge. Impotently, he banged his fists against the wall. They made a hollow thudding sound in the strangely dampened room.

"There has to be some way to get in there," yelled Cullen at himself. He ran his fingers across the surface of the wall, but could find no evidence of even the smallest crack.

"Come on!" he yelled. He was sweating and breathing hard. Eventually, he let his forehead rest against the wall and closed his eyes. That was when he heard it—one voice heralding dozens.

"Bella!" it yelled.

Cullen picked up his head and ran toward the door, back into the larger part of the cave.

"Cullen?!" yelled Alistair.

Cullen was running—his feet seemed to have decided on their own volition. When he reached Alistair, he wrapped his arms around his chest. Their armor hit hard—nearly knocking the wind out of him, but they were together; they were _alive_.

"Cullen, I thought I'd lost you," whispered Alistair. He hadn't let go.

Cullen looked over Alistair's shoulder and froze. The First Warden and his minions were marching toward them—Morrigan somewhere in between.

"I hate to break up such a lovely reunion," mocked Avery. His mouth curled into something that was supposed to be a smile—it looked more like a gaudy Orlesian mask, though.

Cullen let go of Alistair and stepped in front of him. It was a strange gesture—to shield someone your same size—but it felt right.

"Well?" asked Avery, "Where is she?"

Cullen looked at Morrigan—he wasn't sure what the right answer was.

"No, Commander," Avery took two deliberate steps to his left, cutting off Cullen's line of sight. "I didn't ask Morrigan… I asked _you_."

Cullen cleared his throat and filled his chest with air—decidedly _not_ speaking.

Morrigan walked around to stand next to Cullen. A strange look passed between her and Alistair. If Cullen hadn't spent all these months getting to know her, he never would have recognized it—he guessed that's what she was counting on.

All at once, the clearing erupted with whizzing spells and the clang of steel on steel. Cullen rolled out of the way to retrieve his sword from their makeshift camp. Before he returned to the fray, Alistair had taken down six Grey Wardens and was closing in on a seventh. The look on his face was unmistakable—the anguish of being forced to kill his brothers and sisters.

"Cullen!" yelled Morrigan. She gestured across the cave to a mage warden who was creating some sort of magical storm above their heads.

Cullen dove toward the mage, knocking him backward into the wall. It didn't stop him, though. His magical barriers were strong. He shook his head slightly and immediately began chanting again.

Morrigan turned on her heel and threw a hex at him, which gave Cullen just enough time to dispel him and thrust a sword into his side. Within a few seconds, the light had drained out of his eyes. His mouth hung open—blood trickling down onto his chin.

Cullen whirled. Although they were working hard, there seemed to be no end to these foes. Morrigan was surrounded by four warriors, a group of archers crouched on an upper ledge, and Alistair was fighting off a group of several rogues, each of whom kept disappearing in turn. They were _losing_.

Just then, a white light burned out behind him. It was so bright he had to cover his eyes. They turned in unison to face this new foe.

" _Stand back_!" yelled Icis.

As she came closer, Cullen could see that she was completely enveloped in a blue-white barrier of fade energy. Dorian was at her flank doing something to stabilize the shield. Cullen had never seen anything like it.

The next few moments passed in a blur. Alistair eviscerated one of the rogues and decapitated the other two. Morrigan sent out a burst of black inky horror toward the archers, who ran screaming to their deaths. Cullen cut a swath through the warriors surrounding Morrigan—entrails spilled onto the floor around her like orbiting planets.  Icis and Dorian descended on Avery, forcing him into the middle of the circle.

When Cullen next looked up, everything was _still_. The five of them had encircled Avery. He was effectively trapped. Under normal circumstances, Cullen would have said they won—but he knew better than to underestimate this man.

"Bravo," said Avery. He looked like he was about to laugh or attempt one of those disgusting smiles again. Cullen looked away from him instinctively.

"It's over, Avery," said Alistair. He was sweating furiously and breathing hard, but he looked brave. Cullen had never seen him appear so alive.

"Is it?" cackled Avery. His face disappeared behind a layer of fur. Cullen watched as he turned into the largest bear he'd ever seen—black and muscled with a prominent scar through his left eye.

The three mages backed up, already preparing spells. Cullen and Alistair looked at each other and nodded in solidarity.

"Ahhhh!" they yelled in tandem.

Cullen's sword found purchase first. It stabbed upward into the bear's left flank. The bear growled in agony and turned, a claw just barely missing Cullen's face.

Alistair swung around to the other side and made a deep gouge in the bear's back foot. It hopped and partially collapsed, nearly rolling onto Alistair.

Cullen felt Morrigan bolstering him a moment later. His skin tingled and his sword suddenly felt lighter. He hacked and slashed at the bear's legs while it continued to ignore him in favor of attacking Alistair's shield.

"Get down!" yelled Icis from over Cullen's left shoulder.

He ducked just in time to avoid a huge ball of ice. It came hurdling through the air and hit the Bear along its ribcage, sending it hurtling back. Dorian followed closely with a variety of confusing and disturbing hexes.

While the bear was on its side, Alistair and Cullen saw the same opening. More quickly than he thought was possible, he nodded to Alistair— _take it_.

Alistair smiled—charming and boyish as ever. He dropped his sword and took several leaping steps until he was on top of the bear. He drew his sword up high overhead and brought it crashing down into the bear's side. As he twisted the blade, everyone knew it was over—the bear was instantly Avery again.

Alistair didn't move. Cullen didn't blame him—neither of them had killed a shapeshifted bear-mage before. Morrigan was the only one brave enough to approach. She looked at him skeptically and muttered something under her breath.

"He's dead," she said with finality.

Alistair hopped down, ripping his sword out from between the man's broken ribs.

The silence that followed was deafening. Cullen had so many questions, but he was too afraid to ask—afraid of the answers.

The first person brave enough to speak was Alistair. "How did you get here so fast?" He clapped Dorian on the back and looked at Icis with equal parts curiosity and thankfulness.

"Turns out Morrigan left us a trail after all," Icis smirked at Morrigan through her eyelashes.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow in approval, "I wasn't sure you'd be _clever_ enough to follow it."

Cullen wanted to join them in this pseudo-celebration, but he knew something they didn't—Bella was on the _other side_ of that wall.

"Morrigan," he tried to steady his voice. "It may be too late—Bella passed through the wall" he pointed to the odd marble room. "She's on the other side—I can't break through the stone."

Everyone's expression fell at once.

"Then there isn't a moment to lose," said Morrigan. She broke into a run with everyone close behind.

"Can you get through?" asked Alistair.

"I think so," she muttered, not looking up from the wall. "I won't be able to hold it open long enough to get us all in there."

Icis and Dorian looked at each other. "We'll stay here—don’t worry about us," said Dorian.

Morrigan nodded and began to move the stones.

 

* * *

 

**Bella – On the Ledge in the Lava Pits**

They were about to crash through the door—she knew that. The old god part of her mind screamed at her to finish the spell. Her own soul pushed back against it. She'd spent the last half an hour fighting with the soul. Stepping over the threshold, something had changed—not for the better.

She tried to rally, “Just jump, Bella. _Jump_!”

She edged her way closer to the pit and held her breath. If she looked down, she was likely to lose her nerve.

Alistair roared through the rock face behind her, fueled by Morrigan’s magic and sheer will. He stopped short when he saw her.

“Bella!” he raised a palm in her direction.

“Alistair,” she yelled over the noise of the cavern, “this is the _only_ way—I’m going to taint it if I don’t jump.”

Cullen and Morrigan slipped in through the opening and stood at Alistair’s left.

The muscles of Cullen’s jaw contracted when he saw her. “Bella,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “step away from the ledge and let’s talk.”

The wall had already reformed behind them, locking them in the chamber.

“It’s just us now,” said Alistair, trying to sound calm, “we can figure this out.”

“Alistair,” she pleaded, “I’m telling you, I _have_ worked it out—there is no other option. The moment I stepped in here, it **_woke up_** ," she almost choked on the words, "I can barely keep it from taking over even now.”

He looked determined. In a daring move, he dashed toward her and grabbed her wrists. _That_ was when she lost control. She saw herself, from above and from inside, _turning_. Her heart was blackening, oil replacing her blood, her eyes burned red. Alistair’s expression turned from bravery to horror in a matter of seconds. She tried to speak, to call out to him, but she _couldn’t_. Her voice echoed inside her own head.

 

 _She was tainted_. She wondered if even her internal voice would die in the coming moments.

“Alistair,” she heard her voice and felt her lips move, but the words were _not_ her own. “Alistair, let me go.” He voice was flat and low—without a trace of intonation.

He looked at her strangely, “Bella? What’s going on?”

“Alistair,” said the voice, “She’s _gone_ —there’s nothing you can do for her." She saw her own lips curl into a grotesque smile—teeth pulled back over her canines. "Let. Me. _Go_!”

Alistair gripped her wrists tighter. “I won’t!” he yelled indignantly. “Bella, just try to push past this, okay?”

She wanted to yell out to him that she was trying, that she would continue to try, but no matter how hard she pushed against the soul, she couldn’t control her lips or her limbs or her voice.

Cullen and Morrigan had edged their way around her while Alistair had her hands trapped. Bella knew what was going to happen next. Although the plans were not her own, she could _see_ their formation.

In a move so quick she barely saw it happen, she ripped her arms away from Alistair, took two steps to his left and grabbed the dagger off her hip. She twirled, her blade glinting, until it found purchase in Cullen’s left side. His mouth opened—shock crossing his features. Alistair screamed and Morrigan put an arm out to steady him, wary of what this burgeoning archdemon would do next.

Bella felt her arm rip the dagger out of Cullen’s side—blood began to run down his armor instantly. She whirled him like he was a ragdoll—she was _unnaturally_ strong. Before Morrigan and Alistair could even comprehend what had happened, Cullen was on his knees facing them with the dagger at his throat. Bella edged toward the ledge, dragging Cullen with her.

“Alistair,” Bella heard her voice ring out—clear and strong. “Walk _away_ from this… Your only other option now is to _push_ me… if you do that, Cullen dies too.”

The threat hung in the air.

“He’s badly injured… but he’s not dead _yet_ ,” _it_ offered. “If you let me go, Morrigan could heal him…” Bella felt her hand tighten the knife under Cullen’s jaw.

“Alistair, don’t do it… don’t you _dare_ ,” choked Cullen. His voice was desperate and strained, but he was resolute—even with his blood pooling on the ground.

Morrigan took two steps closer to Alistair. He looked at her with anguish.

“Alistair,” _it_ said, “Not to _rush_ you, but you might want to make a decision soon… That’s an awful lot of blood…” she coldly gestured toward the growing red puddle on Cullen’s left. His face was pale.

Morrigan spoke into Alistair’s ear, “ _If_ you do this, we will be thrown into another blight…” It was a warning, but not a command.

“Alistair,” Cullen whispered desperately, “I love you; don’t do this. Let me go…” He was beginning to cry, but he kept his voice low. “I _love_ you, tell Icis I loved our baby, tell Kieran—”

He was cut off as Bella pulled up on the dagger sharply. I tiny trickle of blood ran down the branch of his neck. Alistair stepped forward reflexively, but Morrigan put a hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t— _how_?—Maker,” Alistair shook and tears spilled onto his cheeks.

Bella screamed out impotently, her body a prison. For all these years, she had believed in Alistair. She saw the strength in him even when he couldn't. Although it seemed impossible that he would let Cullen die—even to stop a blight—she intrinsically _knew_ she could trust him now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, I have written ten endings. They range from what you might expect (Alistair takes the deal, Alistair doesn't take the deal) to much less likely scenarios. When we get to the one I consider my personal canon, I'll put a note about it.
> 
> I have taken some liberties with the ways that archdemons can be created/defeated and the ways blights can be started/ended. If you've enjoyed this story, I would REALLY appreciate some feedback about the endings as we go through as well as comments on this chapter about what you wish was an ending... If you tell me about a scenario I haven't thought of, I will absolutely write it as an additional outcome. :) 
> 
> This has been such a labor of love for me and I think the endings are the absolute best part. I can't wait to share them with you. :)


	45. Ending One: Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair refuses to compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider this to be the most common ending. (In terms of... if we were playing a game, this would be the ending that maybe 40% of people would get.) It is certainly not my favorite, although I think it has a lot of charming parts. If this is your canon, tell me. If you hate this and would never pick it, also tell me. :)

**The Ledge**

**Bella**

Alistair gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed, “I _love_ you.” He closed his eyes and ran full speed toward Bella. Before he reached her, she felt the knife slide across Cullen’s throat. Alistair screamed—full of rage and sorrow—as he pushed her back.

Suddenly she was falling. Dropping to his knees on the ledge, Alistair looked down at her as she fell; he didn’t look away for a _second_. Morrigan wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him as he cried. She watched them get smaller and smaller on the ledge until darkness closed in around her.

When she reached the lava, her skin burned—she could _feel_. She tried to move her arms and legs and found she _could_. The pain was searing and soon she couldn’t see.

In the moments before she died, she reflected. Alistair had always been _good_ —deep down. Today, she was _proud_ of him—he became the leader she knew he could be: uncompromising, fair, and just. Even faced with the worst possible outcome, he chose what was best for Thedas… she marveled at his bravery.

“Goodbye, dear one,” she whispered.

 

* * *

 

**10 years later**

**Kieran**

“And that, little one, is the _entire_ story of how our parents and their friends ended the Sixth Blight before it began,” said Kieran.

The little girl—his sister, sort of—was all tucked into her beautiful four poster bed in Denerim’s palace. Her blonde curls bounced and glinted in the firelight. She was normally Kieran’s favorite little person, but tonight Kieran was exhausted and just wanted to get back to his own room.

“Kieran,” she perked up again, “Can I hear the part about when our dads escaped from the mage camp again?” she looked up at Kieran with big purple eyes—she was the perfect combination of her parents. “Just once more… please?”

Kieran tried to think of an excuse not to, but floundered. Thankfully, Icis came around the corner to save him.

“Mia,” said Icis from the doorway, “let Kieran go to bed. He’s got a big day tomorrow.” She smiled dotingly at her daughter.

“Mom! Please…” said little Mia again.

Icis shook her head. “ _You_ have a big job tomorrow too. Remember?”

Mia nodded seriously, “Elbow Alistair if he starts to fall asleep.”

Kieran laughed, “Yup,” then to Icis, “I think she’s got the hardest job of anyone, actually.” He smiled.

“Goodnight, Mia,” said Kieran. He kissed the little girl on the top of her head and left the room.

 

Rounding the corner toward his chambers, he felt nervous. Tomorrow _was_ a big day. It wasn’t every day that a bastard was legitimized. His father and mother had fought daily about this event for years, but Morrigan finally acquiesced after Anora passed last year. Kieran suspected she just liked her new title, The Queen Mother.

The whole event had caused Kieran to reflect on his life. He had done so much more than any twenty-two-year-old kid had any right to. It was like being young and in danger was a family tradition. When he opened the door to his room it was eerily dark inside—the servants must have forgotten to light his fire. He fumbled around on his desk until he found a candle and lit it. Suddenly, the room erupted into screams.

“Surprise!!!” yelled dozens of voices.

Kieran was so shocked he almost shouted. Clutching his chest, he started to laugh. “You almost _killed_ me!” he chided.

Morrigan illuminated all the candles in the room at once and he could now see that the room was full of people, all there to celebrate his ascension.

“Congratulations, Darling,” said Morrigan.

“Thank you, mother,” said Kieran. “Did you organize this whole thing?”

“Actually, no,” answered Morrigan, “I thought the whole thing was a bit gauche, but Alistair insisted.” She smiled toward his father at the back of the room.

“I better go thank him,” said Kieran.

As he approached his father, his chest felt a bit tight. These days it was impossible to know what kind of a day Alistair would be having. He was a Grey Warden, and as such, he had started to hear the calling. Kieran knew it was just a matter of time until he joined the wardens of the past in the Deep Roads. That was why this coronation was so _important_ —an heir had to be named before Alistair’s death. _Death_ —the word made him shudder. He had grown so close to his father in the last decade.

“Thanks, Dad,” said Kieran with his best smile. “This was really thoughtful.”

“I wasn’t going to let this day go unnoticed,” said Alistair, a glint of something like pride in his eye. “You’re going to be wonderful tomorrow. Are you nervous?”

“Only a little—I keep changing things in my speech. I can’t seem to get the wording right,” answered Kieran.

“Whatever you say will be great,” said Alistair. “Plus, no one will be listening. They are going to be too busy planning the next 30 years of your life.” He laughed.

Kieran knew he was right, though. As soon as his coronation was announced he started receiving invitations to visit all the nobles with available daughters and sons and requests for favors from landowners.

“Seriously, though, Kieran,” said Alistair, putting a hand on each of Kieran’s shoulders, “I’m _so_ proud of you. You’re going to be three times the king I ever was.” Alistair’s eyes were filling with tears. Kieran felt like he might cry too.

“Kieran!” called a small voice from across the room. It was Mia.

“Mia?” answered Kieran, “what are you doing out of bed?”

Icis was behind her, “It was all part of the plan, Kieran,” she smiled, “Mia is just _so_ proud of the part she played in keeping you out of your chambers all night.”

Mia was beaming up at Kieran.

“Aren’t you sneaky?” said Kieran, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Good work. You know, I might need a spy master someday, maybe I could recruit you.” Everyone within earshot laughed.

Over his left shoulder he heard a deep laugh.

“Kieran, let me congratulate you formally,” said Dorian. Age hadn’t affected his looks at all. Kieran wondered if it was magical intervention. His moustache defied gravity. Caronel looked radiant on his arm.

“Thanks!” said Kieran, “it’s so nice to see you guys. Did you come all the way down from Tevinter for this?”

“Of course we did,” said Dorian and Caronel in near unison.

“You’re the first kid we ever liked—probably the only reason we ever decided to have kids of our own,” Caronel pointed to the corner where two elven girls were playing with Mia and some other children. They couldn’t have been older than five or six.

Kieran smiled, “I’m _so_ happy for you… and thanks…for the compliment.”

Dorian leaned in as if to tell a secret, “just be careful if you say hi to them later, Carissa’s magic is a little out of control these days… she turned her first nanny into a toad.”

Caronel interjected, “Just for a second! We turned her right back.”

They all laughed.

 

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Kieran shook a million hands and was clapped on the back more times than he could count. When everyone was finally gone, he was left alone with a big mess and a bigger smile. Deciding to avoid the clutter tonight, he pushed back his covers and got into bed. His mind wouldn’t sleep, though. Seeing all these faces from his past had illuminated the people who would never be here to share this with him—the people without whom he would never have been here in the first place.

Bella’s face popped into his mind. She was the first and only friend his mother had really had. They were like sisters and Kieran loved Bella like a second mother. The day Morrigan and Alistair told him she was gone, he had cried for hours. It seemed so unfair that someone so committed to good would end in such an horrifying way. It made him tremble even now.

With Bella, he thought about Reimas too—he never knew her at all, but he knew her journals. They were part of the official record for the Sixth Blight now—'the blight that never was'. As a teenager, he had wanted to understand Bella’s motivations better so he had read the entire account. He thought that _if_ there was an afterlife, at least they were together.

And then there was Cullen—the love of his father’s life. He had never asked directly, but he suspected that their love was the kind that snuck up on people. It came on all of a sudden and ended just as abruptly. When Cullen didn’t return, Kieran thought he would never recover. His misery had only increased when he saw the way Cullen’s death affected Alistair. When Alistair returned from the deep roads he was a _shell_ of himself. He wondered now if that was the first time he heard the old god’s song—if profound sadness began his calling prematurely.

Some good _had_ come of it, though. Cullen’s death put into action a series of events that eventually led them here. It prevented a blight, of course, and Icis and Alistair agreed that they needed to stay together for Mia—that if Cullen couldn’t be there, Alistair certainly _would_ be.

“Thanks, Cullen,” said Kieran in a whisper.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

The next morning, Alistair awoke from a nightmare with a start. For the split second before he opened his eyes he imagined that Cullen was lying next to him, his chest rising and falling gently with each sleepy breath. Of course, Cullen was _not_ there. Just as he had not been there for the last ten years.

“Soon, Darling,” Alistair said to no one. “As soon as we finish this coronation business, we’ll talk. We’ll figure out the next steps, Love.”

What he didn’t say out loud was that he already had a plan. He wasn’t sure _why_ he didn’t say it—as if thinking it and saying it were any _different_ in this situation. He laughed at himself.

He had already decided to _go_ —as soon as he could get away. He had mapped out an entrance to the deep roads that was likely to have the highest density of darkspawn. He didn’t want to drag it out. He wanted to die like the wardens of old—brave, proud, and, most importantly, quick.

“Who am I kidding?” he continued speaking, “you already know what I’m planning. You always could figure me out.”

On his dressing table, he found a quickly written note from Kieran.

 **[** Dad, please remember to give the special candles to the cleric at the chantry. Thanks. **]**

Seeing the note gave him pause. The only reason he hadn’t already handled this was Kieran. He loved him so much it hurt. Seeing Kieran grow up was amazing—he had turned into such a good person.

“Cullen, you’ve _seen_ him right?” he continued his monologue, “he’s so amazing. He cares about _everything_ and he’s so smart. How are we related?” He laughed for a second, but was suddenly crying. He crumbled onto the floor and leaned against his bed, the note crushed against his chest.

“I often wonder what it would be like if you were here… I’m sure you would have planned a far better party for Kieran than I did.”

He paused.

“I _know_ what you’re thinking,” he sobbed, “this is cowardly. I should stay here a while longer— _fight_ this, for Kieran.”

He pushed his hand over his face, tears coating his cheeks.

“—but I _can’t_! I have fought through every day for ten years. I did that for him, but I’m not strong enough anymore. And now he’s grown up and he doesn’t need me.”

A guttural noise escaped his lips, his whole body contracted in pain, “I _miss_ you…” he managed barely louder than a whisper.

Suddenly Icis’ face was at the door. How many times did she have to find him sobbing hideously?

“Alistair,” she approached him with compassion, “are you all right?”

“ _No_ ,” he said miserably, “but you might have saved me from getting really drunk first thing in the morning. That was my next stop,” he pointed at a bottle of whiskey on his desk.

She laughed, “This is tough for all of us, you know.” She sat down next to him and plopped a hand onto his knee. They had been here so many times before. In the years that they had known each other no one had been more supportive of Alistair than Icis. He never deserved it, but she kept giving it nevertheless.

“Are you still planning to leave?” asked Icis.

“How did you know?” asked Alistair. He wasn’t surprised, but he felt a guilty and embarrassed.

“Your quarters are right next to mine…” said Icis, poking him in the ribs, “you _literally_ talk over every decision _out loud_.”

He smiled, his face still tear worn. “What should I do?”

“I can’t answer that,” she said looking down. “We’ll all be _heartbroken_ without you, but I can’t know what you’re going through. What is the song like these days?”

“It’s _loud_ —sort of beautiful and distracting,” he answered, “sometimes I can ignore it. It’s not bad right now, actually.”

“You know Morrigan and I are getting _close_ to a way delay this,” she said looking at him deeply, “just give us a _little_ more time and we’ll have it—”

“—that’s not the point,” interrupted Alistair. “It’s just a matter of time until it comes back and we’re in this same situation again—no Grey Warden dies gently.”

“But, Alistair,” continued Icis seriously, “what if we can find a _cure_? What if we’re only a few months away?” she was emphatic.

“There _is_ no cure,” said Alistair. He put a hand on her cheek to make her look at him. “Bella _died_ finding that out for us. There is _never_ going to be a cure. Let it go.”

He let go of her face and stared blankly ahead. She let her head drop onto his shoulder. They sat together in silence for a long time.

“Even if you _could_ cure me,” said Alistair, a hint a darkness in his voice, “I’m not sure I can _stand_ this anymore…”

He rolled his head onto hers. He wished he could demonstrate how much he cared about her. She had been wonderful to him all these years.

“You’ve _seen_ me, Icis, I’m a mess—and I have been this whole time…” he paused, “The love of my life is _dead_ because of me… the guilt is crushing…I’m not sure I can take it.”

He could tell she was starting to cry too. Her small frame was shaking against his shoulder.

“What about _us_ , Alistair? We need you…” she cried softly.

“No you don’t,” he gripped her shoulders and turned her until they were face to face. “You’re _set_ here—Kieran is going to make sure you always have a home… and you _could_ always go back to Skyhold if you wanted. Mia will be taken care of for the rest of her life. Morrigan _loves_ you. What else could you possibly need?”

“You!” she cried miserably and flung her head into his chest. After several unbridled sobs, she managed a smile. “You’re the _worst_ , Alistair—just the _worst_ kind of person. You get me all addicted to you and then pull away. How many times must I endure this?” She laughed and cried.

He pulled her into a rough hug, “I haven’t decided anything for certain, Icis. Let’s just get through the coronation and we’ll talk.”

He was lying—he planned to leave without saying goodbye, before _anyone_ could stop him.

“Okay,” she wiped the tears away from her ludicrously beautiful eyes and stood up, extending an arm.

Alistair gripped it and straightened, “I’m not actually ready yet, but you can escort me to my wardrobe.” They both laughed.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Everyone who was _anyone_ was in attendance. From her seat in the first row, Icis could see every named landowner and lesser noble she knew.

Morrigan, sitting on her left, leaned over to whisper, “vultures…”

Icis stifled a laugh and put her arm around Mia, who was waiting patiently to play her part.

“Where is Alistair?” asked Mia, “He’s supposed to sit next to me.”

“He’ll be here any minute,” said Icis. Then she leaned in toward Morrigan, “He had a bit of a _meltdown_ this morning… he may have gotten into the scotch before I left.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, “fantastic.”

Just as Icis was beginning to worry, she saw him. He entered from his private chambers off the assembly hall and everyone stood. He looked exactly as she remembered him—green waistcoat, crown slightly askew. The memory made her sad. Things had turned out so differently than she expected. She never admitted it—even to herself—but she could _never_ get over him. Every time she thought she gathered the strength to tell him she was leaving for Skyhold, he did something that made her stay.

Before her daughter was born she had packed all her things and gone to knock on his door. _That_ was the first time she found him crying. They sat together on the floor as he wept. She cried too—but for _herself_ : for her loss of innocence, for her cowardice in the face of being alone, for her life that could have been.

Alistair waved to the crowd, his smile still boyish, and came to sit on the other side of Mia.

"He looks okay, surprisingly," whispered Morrigan on Icis' left. They smiled knowingly.

"Oh shit," said Alistair under his breath.

"What?" asked Icis, her eyes narrowing.

"I forgot the candles!" Alistair looked around the room, deciding what to do, "Kieran left me a note about them specifically…"

Morrigan rolled her eyes.

They had been like this for ten years and Icis was always in the middle of it. Since they made the decision to all live together in Denerim, Morrigan and Alistair had never stopped bickering. At first, Icis was afraid it would affect Kieran, but it never did. He took their antics in stride and eventually joined in. He loved them both, after all.

Just then, Kieran emerged at the back of the hall. A velvet runner had been placed down the center aisle for his approach. He looked wonderful—very _kingly_ , Icis thought. His waistcoat was purple; a perfect match to the runner, and his crown was silver—not at all askew.

"Doesn't he look wonderful?" asked Alistair, brimming with pride.

Mia was watching Alistair suspiciously, "are you _asleep_ yet?" she whispered.

Alistair feigned falling asleep with his mouth open and she hit him.

Morrigan shot both of them a dirty look and they straightened.

 

* * *

 

During the coronation, the Divine had an _incredibly_ long speech that was very well-received, but Icis didn't hear a word. Instead, she was lost in thought—remembering the ones they lost and wondering about their days ahead. When it was all over, the crowd erupted in cheers and carried out their would-be king on their shoulders.

"Alistair!" called Icis. She turned to look at his seat, but didn't see him. Her eyes searched the hall—he wasn't there. She felt suddenly cold.

"Alistair?!" she yelled, running through the halls. "Alistair, where are you?"

When she rounded the corner to his room, she paused at the door. It was the door where all this began—all this nonsense that had resulted in so much turmoil, so much death, so much despair—and… so much _love_.

Inside, Alistair's things were neatly folded on his bed. The green coat and his golden crown were propped on two pillows next to a tiny folded piece of parchment.  Icis took in a deep breath sat down on the floor as they had this morning.

 

 **[** Dear Icis, I know you're going to find this first. I'm sorry, but I couldn't wait—the song is louder than ever and I can't sit with my sadness anymore. I have a lot of things to be thankful for, that's _true_. I have a wonderful family—Mia and Kieran are the lights of my life. Please tell them how much I love them and that I couldn't be more proud. Tell Morrigan I love her too—in a _way_ … she's still scary. (Tell her that too, she loves to intimidate people.) Mostly, tell yourself that this _isn't_ your fault. There was no mystical cure just out of reach—you could have worked for fifty more years on this Calling-cure and found nothing. Go experience your life, for once, without me holding you back. Find someone _else_ to love—you _deserve_ it. Goodbye. —Alistair. **]**

 

Icis drew in a few ragged breaths. She ran through the scenario of chasing him to the ends of the earth. She stood, suddenly frantic—trying to find something to put her clothes in; searching for her staff.

 _No._ He wouldn't want that. He wanted to die—it was his choice.

Icis flung herself across his bed, burying her face in his waistcoat. It smelled like him—earthy and faintly of lilac. As she closed her eyes, breathing him in, she realized: she and Alistair had something in common. They both loved someone _enough_ to let him go.

 

THE END


	46. Ending Two: Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair can't let Cullen die--no matter the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I would call the "bad" ending. The one that you might get on your evil playthrough... although I don't think that the world is as simple as good and bad... hence the other 8 endings. :)

**Bella**

Bella watched in horror as Alistair’s face contorted. He hung his head in shame, “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

Her voice cackled— _it_ had won.

Bella cried out internally, “Alistair, no!”

The laughing continued as Bella dropped Cullen onto the stone and began to transform. Bella felt her skin grow sharp and scaly; her bones cracked and reformed hideously. In the last moments before she lost herself, she was _ashamed_ of Alistair. He had come so far and done so much, but when it counted, he couldn’t put the good of Thedas above his own needs. If she _could_ have cried, she would have _sobbed_.

Alistair grabbed Cullen around the waist and Morrigan put pressure on his side as Bella rose—a fully formed dragon. She soared toward the ceiling—stories above them. Their shapes eventually became specs in the distance—hardly of concern to an Archdemon. With a burst of blue flames, she was gone.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue – 10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

"And that," said Kieran, "is why we have to go to this _ridiculous_ party in Val Royeaux." He kicked his boot into the carriage's floor in frustration.

Mia made a face at the mask she was holding. "I _still_ don't understand," she complained, "If you don't _want_ to marry this lady, why do you have to?"

Cullen huffed from the other side of their carriage.

"I _have to_ because it will stabilize the region," said Kieran ruefully.

He realized this explanation was not helpful for a 9-year-old, but it was the best he could muster. The _real_ reasons were endlessly more complicated. After Queen Anora died during the third year of the blight, King Alistair—his _father_ , he mentally corrected—was reticent to pull Kieran into the politics of Thedas, but he needed an heir. After Kieran's coronation, Alistair thought he had fully satisfied the nobles and things went back to normal for a while.

Eventually, though, Ferelden began to crumble under the weight of the blight and they now needed a financial bail-out from neighboring Orlais. Kieran marrying into the de Chevin family was one of the only ways to fund Ferelden's collapsing infrastructure. He was to meet this Marquis' daughter tomorrow—her name was Adele.

Icis bristled next to Cullen.

"Mia," Icis began, "When we're there, you must be on your best behavior—say hello to everyone who you know and be polite with the strangers, all right?"

Mia nodded, but frowned.

Icis laid a hand on Cullen's lap. He looked at it like a foreign object. They had been married for nearly a decade, but not _happily_ —more victims of the blight. Being around them was _excruciating_ for Kieran.

The carriage lurched and settled into the soft earth at the gates of Val Royeaux.

"Here we go…" said Kieran. He sighed and stepped gingerly out of the carriage.

The others followed him out and a footman with a plumed mask helped them with their bags.

           

* * *

 

Kieran was shown to a gaudy room at the end of a long hall. When he stepped inside, he ran into his mother and Alistair, sitting on the settee.

"I didn't expect to see you two," he said seriously.

"Don't be ridiculous, Kieran," said Morrigan dismissively, "we wanted to speak to you before all this… _happens_ …"

Alistair seemed tired. Kieran hadn't seen him in several years. Kieran didn't have anything against Alistair, but Cullen and Icis _hated_ him for some reason. The last 10 years at Skyhold had been a lesson in abhorring his father and disparaging his mother. The two of them were always off doing "special projects," or "secret research" for the Wardens. It made them seem guilty of— _something_.  Alistair still looked _sweet_ , though. Kieran remembered how kind and funny he could be. During his formative years, Kieran often wished he could move to Denerim and be with him.

"Kieran," said Alistair, managing a smile, "It's _so_ good to see you."

Alistair took an awkward step forward, as if to initiate a hug, but stopped just short and extended his arm. Kieran took is hesitantly.

"It's nice to see you too—I wish the circumstances were a little better…" Kieran's joke landed awkwardly.

"Well, when you _see_ her you might think she's okay," joked Alistair.

A tiny hint of happiness flickered behind his honey-brown irises. Morrigan rolled her eyes, but smiled.

The door swung open behind them suddenly.

It was Cullen. "Kieran, I need to—" he stopped short at the sight of Alistair and Morrigan.

A blanket of silence fell over them like fog.

"What do you need, Cullen?" asked Kieran, finally.

"Nothing… I'll—I'll come back later…" he stammered. "I'm just next door and Icis is around the corner, if you need anything." He looked suspiciously from Kieran to Alistair and back again.

Kieran smiled as Cullen closed the door.

"This is going to be the _best_ weekend, isn't it?" he laughed. In most groups this joke would not have been appreciated, but he had inherited his humor from Alistair and Morrigan in equal parts. They all laughed.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Alistair couldn't sleep. His sheets were scratchy and his body ached from riding all day to get here. Most disappointingly, this huge bed was _empty_. Through the last ten years, he found plenty of people to _fill_ his bed in Denerim or on the road— _wherever_ they were—but none of them _mattered_. He always awoke with the same hollow, disappointed feeling. Tonight, his anguish was palpable—Cullen was right next door. If he listened closely enough, he could almost hear him breathing. It was a sound Alistair had tried very hard to forget—gentle inhalations followed by slow, languid sighs.

That was _it_ —he was going to settle this once and for all. He threw a thin shirt over his chest and tied his pants in place as he marched to the door. He swung it open with purpose.

"Going somewhere?" asked Morrigan quietly.

She stood in the doorway, blocking his path—a veritable _bulwark_ of strength. Alistair hung his head in frustration.

"Morrigan, I need to _settle_ this…" he sighed.

She looked at him disapprovingly, but with a hint of a smile. Pushing a hand into his chest, she led him back to into the room. Alistair collapsed into a heap on the floor against the bed and she sat next to him.

"He's right next door," he said pleadingly.

"Alistair," she began gently, "You are, of course, _allowed_ to do anything you please… but I don't wish to see you sent into madness over this—Kieran has a very big day tomorrow."

He tucked his knees into his chest and hugged them.

"I know this hurts you, though," she said.

He looked at her, angry tears threatening around the corners of his eyes.

"…I did it because I _love_ him… and he's punished me every day for a decade," said Alistair.

Morrigan put a hand on his knee and nodded. "I know… some people aren't ready to see the grey we see, Darling," she sighed.

In the years since this nightmare began, Morrigan had been incredibly supportive of Alistair. He never deserved it, but she gave it nonetheless. When Icis and Cullen got _married_ —out of spite, Alistair guessed—Morrigan had suggested they go _away_ for a while. Concurrently, the Wardens needed a new leader and Alistair was one of the oldest living members available. Morrigan, with her knowledge of old gods, was the ideal companion for their adventures. For a while, it had been good— _great,_ actually—but every time he saw a recruit with a scarred upper lip or a soldier with blonde curls, his heart broke all over again.

"What should I do?" he asked, looking into her yellow eyes.

"I can't answer that," said Morrigan. "But I _do_ think that you should be ready for the worst— _when_ you go over there…" her lip coiled into a sneer, "you're going over there as soon as I leave, aren't you?"

He laughed—she knew him _too_ well.

"Just be _careful_ , all right?" she said finally.

He nodded.

"I'll see you in the morning… and remember to bring that prenuptial agreement with you," she warned.

She wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed before gliding noiselessly out of the room.

 

* * *

 

This was it—it was now or never. Alistair approached the wooden door. His hand shook as he prepared to knock.

"Who is it?" asked Cullen sleepily.

_Should he lie?_

"Hello?" asked Cullen again.

Alistair decided not to announce himself. He turned the knob and stepped into the darkened room. A single candle burned on Cullen's desk, which was littered with papers. Cullen sat up, recognition dawning on his face. He pulled his blankets around him in a feeble attempt to cover his chest.

" _What_ do you want?" he asked angrily.

"You…" said Alistair too quickly. He hated himself for being so obvious, but he couldn't wait—he had waited ten years for Cullen to come back and, obviously, it was _his_ turn to make a gesture.

Cullen didn't say anything, but his lips pursed. Alistair crossed the room in two steps and was sitting next to him on the bed before Cullen could react.

"Only you—only _ever_ you," he said breathlessly.

Cullen still didn't move.

Alistair gripped Cullen's face with both hands and kissed him desperately. Cullen let his blankets pool around his waist and was soon pulling Alistair's shirt off over his head. Alistair ripped the sheets back and rolled his body onto Cullen's. His heart was on fire.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Alistair didn't dare open his eyes— _surely_ this was all a dream. Then he felt an arm, curving around his waist. Turning furtively, he gasped when he saw Cullen's perfect nose and scarred lips two inches from his own. His heart trilled remembering the previous night. Their bodies moved as if no time had passed at all, ' _I love you'_ a whispered prayer on their lips.

 Alistair brushed his nose against Cullen's forehead and ran a finger along the line of his jaw.

Cullen woke with a start and blinked.

"Hi?" said Alistair, smiling hopefully.

Cullen pulled back suddenly, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. "You need to go," he said.

Alistair's limbs retracted reflexively, as if he had been punched. " _What_?"

"Get out of here," said Cullen. He stood, taking the sheets with him, leaving Alistair cold and vulnerable.

"I don't understand," said Alistair, attempting to pull his pants on.

"This shouldn't have happened," growled Cullen. "I never want to see you again."

Cullen turned away from him and dressed quickly from the waist down.

Alistair felt like cold water had been poured down his back. He was shaking with anger and embarrassment.

He crossed to Cullen and gripped his hips. "I love you."

Cullen swatted his hands away and stared at him with anger burning in his eyes.

"I _love_ you," said Alistair more forcefully. "And I _know_ you love me," he gestured to the bed, which looked like it had been through a tornado.

Cullen looked at the mess before meeting Alistair's gaze. "It doesn't matter," he said gruffly, trying to step around Alistair.

Alistair grabbed his shoulders and leaned in to catch his eyes again.

"It matters—it's _all_ that matters now," said Alistair.

Cullen rolled his eyes and flopped down onto the bed to stare at the ceiling.

"That's _exactly_ the point," he said darkly. He rested his palms over his eyes and spoke into the darkness. "You think _this_ matters more than the whole world, Alistair—I should be _dead_."

Cullen let his arms fall and looked up at Alistair, who was now hovering over him.

"I know," said Alistair quietly.

He fit himself into the space between Cullen's chest and arm and spoke into Cullen's skin.

"I'm sorry for that—for everything…" he continued. "I'm _sorry_ for the whole world… but I could _never_ kill you. I couldn't have then and I couldn't now."

He kissed Cullen's clavicle.

"—but we're here now… _both_ of us. And no matter how ruined the world is, we have each other. Why should we punish ourselves for something we can't change?" he asked, desperation in his voice.

Cullen sighed, "I have to go."

Cullen stood, prying his arm out from under Alistair. Alistair watched him walk away, tears burning in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

The hall was beginning to fill as Icis leaned against a column in her violet gown. Every Orlesian she had ever heard of was in attendance. She had a strange sense of déjà vu about the whole event. She scanned the room for familiar faces. That's when she saw him—sauntering down the stairs in a green waistcoat and golden crown—slightly askew. Her eyes raked over his form, still broad and boyish. The second their eyes connected she looked at her feet and brushed a hand through her hair, but it was too late—he caught her.

"Inquisitor," King Alistair bowed low, a laugh in his voice.

Icis blushed, "Your Majesty…"

She curtsied and they laughed at the absurdity of this repetition.

"May I?" he asked, extending a hand.

Whirling in the center of the room, she wondered what had come over her—for the last ten years she tried to forget him. _So had Cullen_.

For the first few years, Icis and Cullen tried to make their marriage _work_ , but Alistair was _everywhere_. His things were strewn across every corner of Skyhold; he'd left margin notes in Cullen's journal; his laugh wafted through Kieran's voice. Eventually, Cullen left to return to his bedroom above his office and Icis threw herself into her work. They only joined forces for Mia.

"What are we doing?" asked Icis quietly.

“Dancing,” answered Alistair.

During their next rotation, she caught Cullen’s eye across the hall.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” asked Cullen, though gritted teeth.

Alistair tightened his grip on her waist. Icis couldn’t tell which of them Cullen wanted to talk to.

“We’re in the middle of something, Cullen. You’ll have to wait your turn…” said Alistair.

Icis raised an eyebrow at Alistair.

Cullen leaned between them, effectively stopping their dance.

“Al,” he kept his face neutral, but his voice was tense, “don’t do this…”

Icis looked back and forth between them.

Morrigan suddenly appeared over her left shoulder. “Boys,” she said coldly, “You should take this somewhere else…”

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

“What are you doing?” asked Cullen in a side corridor.

He was so angry he was shaking. Alistair stood with his back to the wall of the dimly lit hallway.

“Cullen—” Alistair stepped toward him, arms outstretched.

“Stop!” yelled Cullen. He glared threateningly.

An elven servant girl in a bronze mask dropped a tray of glasses behind him. Alistair and Cullen breathed in tandem until they were alone.

“Cullen, _please_ …” said Alistair gently.

Cullen knew Alistair was about to say something tender and kind and _sweet_. He couldn’t let him get too far into it or he would lose his nerve.

“Alistair,” Cullen raised a hand and closed his eyes. “This is the _last_ time we’re going to see each other. We need to be here for this mess with Kieran… but after this, we’re _done_.”

Alistair’s face fell.

“There is a blight _ravaging_ Thedas, Alistair,” continued Cullen, “A blight that _we_ created, no less. You made your bed, now it’s time to sleep in it.”

Cullen turned on his heel to rejoin the rest of the party. Alistair reached out for him and managed to grip his arm.

“Cullen, I can’t…” Alistair’s eyes were filled with tears.

Cullen turned, suddenly furious. He grabbed Alistair by the collar and pushed him back into the wall— _hard_. The paintings on the wall shook and he heard a distinct cracking noise where Alistair’s head hit.

“Don’t _ever_ touch me again,” he growled.

Alistair cowered—his eyes were full of fear. Cullen let go of his shirt and stormed out. He could feel his pulse in his neck and he was sweating.

 

* * *

 

Suddenly, the hall was filled with screaming. Cullen ran to see what was going on. The door had been blown open and outside he saw _it_ —rotting scales shrouded in black blood and strings of gore. The archdemon had finally arrived in Orlais.

It took him only a second to grab the closest sword and begin barking orders. Alistair fell in behind him—their training ran deep. Outside, he ordered anyone who could carry a sword to flank the beast and hack at its legs. Mages in the group began weaving protection spells under Morrigan’s orders. Icis and several others were hexing the hordes of darkspawn following the beast. This was the first time in ten years that Cullen saw the archdemon up close—it hurt to remember that _it_ used to be Bella.

The archdemon backed up on the bridge outside. This gave it a distinct advantage since the bridge was narrow enough that no one could chance trying to get behind it without running directly under its legs. It flailed and sent six melee fighters hurtling toward the rocks below. Cullen hoped they died instantly.

Cullen looked at the crowd—there were enough of them that they had a chance to end this once and for all. Then he remembered—they needed a Grey Warden to land the killing blow.

“Shit…” Cullen swore under his breath. “ _Alistair_.”

His eyes found him quickly. He was entrenched directly in front of the archdemon’s mouth. He managed to hold up his shield just in time to avoid being burned by a stream of blue flames before charging toward the monster’s chest. He was deflected and sent hurtling back. Cullen had only seconds to get to him. He didn’t know what he could possibly say that would mean _anything_ after attacking him in the hallway, but he felt compelled, as if they were connected by a taut string.

“Alistair!” he screamed over the hum.

Alistair ducked a blow and blocked with his shield as Cullen neared him. He looked at Cullen painfully.

“Alistair, who _else_ is here?” He narrowly dodged some flames by summersaulting toward Alistair. “Which other _wardens_?!”

“There aren’t any,” yelled Alistair.

Cullen’s mouth went dry. He could hate Alistair forever—but he needed him _alive_.

“Feels great, doesn’t it?” said Alistair, without a hint of humor. “That I’m going to die…” He grunted with effort as he hacked at the creature’s leg before it rose into the air and circled. “Now imagine someone offered you a way out of it…”

Cullen whirled. Countless darkspawn had begun to join the fray from every angle—they were _completely_ surrounded. While the archdemon flew high above them, Alistair and Cullen stood back to back and took down foe after foe. Cullen’s face was coated with blood and sweat that ran painfully into his eyes. Cullen could feel Alistair breathing raggedly behind him as the archdemon dove down again.

It landed directly in front of Alistair. Cullen turned to face it. The archdemon had been wounded and was standing as close to them as it ever would—it was time.

“Goodbye, Cullen,” he said. He dropped his shield to grab the hilt of his sword with two hands and ran, full speed, toward the most vulnerable spot between its chest and neck.

Cullen screamed, “Wait!” but his voice was swallowed by the roar of the fight.

 

* * *

 

A moment later, it was over. Cullen saw a bit of green velvet blowing in the breeze and instantly dropped his sword. He broke into a sprint and crashed next to Alistair on the ground.

“Alistair?!” he yelled. “Alistair, wake up!”

He already knew that his words were futile, but they spilled out of him reflexively. Alistair’s eyes looked up unseeingly—glassy and dead. Cullen’s hands shook and his vision blurred.

“Is he—?” asked Icis, approaching his side with Morrigan right behind.

Cullen couldn’t speak. He nodded mechanically. The world was _spinning_ around him. He struggled to breathe under the weight of his revulsion and grief.

Morrigan put a hand on his shoulder gently and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “He saved _all_ of us.”

“Morrigan,” he suddenly cried out, “help him!” He gripped Alistair’s chest and dragged him onto his lap. Cradling his head he touched his cheeks, trying impotently to wake him.

No one moved.

“Morrigan! Icis!” he yelled again, “what are you doing?” he grabbed at the hem of Icis’ dress and tried to pull her down next to him, “ _Help_ him!... _help_ …” he sobbed, his entire body shaking, “help _me_ …” his body collapsed under the weight of his grief. He let his cheek fall onto Alistair’s chest. His body was _warm_ , it felt full of life— _how could he be gone_?!

“Alistair!” he drew his face back and yelled, “Alistair, wake up!”

Icis watched him in horror—tears forming in her own eyes.

“Alistair, _please_ …” he sobbed—his tears landing in Alistair’s hair. He smoothed the wayward ginger strands and kissed his head, “Alistair—this can’t be… I can’t…” his words were nearly unintelligible. “ _I love you_ ,” he finally said, quietly at first. Then louder, “I love you!”

He was screaming now. His hands crushed the lapels of Alistair’s waistcoat, bits of tattered green velvet flying everywhere. He shook Alistair wildly, trying to _will_ the life back into him. “Wake. _Up_!” he screamed. “I love you!” then quieter, “I love you,” then barely a whisper, “I love…you…” His forehead connected with Alistair’s chest and he closed his eyes.

Before he could do or say anything else, Morrigan knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Cullen,” she spoke with more kindness than he had ever heard, “he’s gone.”

Cullen stood and wiped his face with the cuff of his jacket.

“King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden has given his life to end the blight,” said Morrigan. Her voice was strong and clear. Kieran ran to her side through the crowd, looking frantic.

“He is the only warden in history to be instrumental in ending two blights. Let his bravery and valor be an inspiration to all of us,” she concluded.

She bowed her head and walked back toward the hall. The others followed—all except Icis and Cullen. They were left standing, but _crippled_ —unable to move away from their fallen love.

Icis kneeled next to Alistair and brushed the hair away from his face. Cullen was silently weeping.

“He did this for all of us, Cullen—but I think he mostly did it for _you_.”


	47. Ending Three: Transcendence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair can't make this decision--he changes the rules of the deal instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, we get less and less conventional with these endings. Although this isn't super happy, I consider this my personal canon. I can't wait to hear which one(s) you guys gravitate toward. :)

**Alistair**

Alistair knew his time was running out. He only had a few seconds to decide before Cullen’s blood loss decided for him. He looked at Morrigan desperately.

“I can’t…” he stammered, frantically running his hands through his hair.

He closed his eyes, trying to think. In the blackness of his eyelids, he realized something—there was no escaping this situation. There was no one coming to bail him out. There was _no_ Maker, _no_ Andraste, and _no_ magic dark enough to evade this.

Alistair squared his jaw and opened his eyes. Before saying another word, he launched himself at Bella with incredible speed. Instead of trying to wrestle Cullen away from her, he grabbed the knife with his hand. Blood instantly soaked his palm and ran down his forearm. His other fist connected with Bella’s chest and she went hurtling back.

Suddenly, Alistair was falling—they _both_ were. As the cliff got smaller and smaller in the distance, Alistair saw Morrigan shielding Cullen, pulling him back from the edge. Cullen’s screams were soon drowned out by the searing pain that closed all around Alistair.

In the moments before he died, Alistair realized that _this_ was the proudest he had ever been of himself. He had done what was _right_ , regardless of the consequences. He never would have done it without Cullen—it made _sense_ that he should be the one to live. He deserved to.

“Goodbye, dear one,” he thought.

 

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

“And that, everyone,” said Kieran, closing the book, “is the _entire_ account of the Sixth Blight—the blight that never was.”

Kieran pushed up his glasses and looked around the room.

“Does anyone have any questions?” he asked the class.

A small blonde girl with purple eyes raised her hand. A boy near her rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mia?” Kieran smiled—his sister _always_ had questions.

“ _Why_ did he do it?” she asked.

“Do what?” Kieran perched himself on the front corner of his desk.

“Why didn’t he just _tackle_ the archdemon?” Her eyebrows were raised, “why didn’t he think of another way to get my dad— _Commander Cullen_ —” she corrected for the benefit of the class, “— _away_ from her without killing himself?”

Kieran breathed out audibly. It was the question he asked himself every time he covered this with his history students.

“Because he realized that _some_ things were more important than survival,” he answered thoughtfully.

“Like what?” asked a little boy in the front row.

“Like _love_ ,” said Kieran quietly. “He loved Commander Cullen so much that his _own_ life didn’t matter anymore—at least not when he compared the two…”

He heard the door of his classroom creak and bristled as Cullen walked in.

“I guess that’s all the time we have today, everyone…” he straightened a few papers on his desk as the children gathered their things and approached the door.

“Remember, you need to read pages 62-78 for tomorrow’s discussion on the reintroduction of Griffons into Grey Warden society,” he called as they filed out.

Cullen ushered the children out into the hallway for their sword training, but lingered near the door once they had gone. Kieran knew this time of year was hard for him—they were nearing the 10th anniversary of King Alistair’s death.

“Mia, get everyone set up for drills, okay?” Cullen called into the hallway. “I’ll be right down.”

Mia nodded and ran off.

“Doing all right today, Cullen?” asked Kieran once they were alone. He knew he _wasn’t_.

“As well as can be expected,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and twisted a few blonde-ish-grey curls at the nape of his neck. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Mostly… I keep changing my speech,” said Kieran.

“I think you’re going to do wonderfully,” said Cullen. “Your schools are _remarkable_ —ten years ago no one would have _ever_ believed that children of dwarves, humans, elves, and qunari could have studied together. You’ve done _amazing_ work.”

Kieran smiled.

“ _He_ would have been proud too, you know,” said Cullen quietly.

Kieran saw tears forming at the edges of Cullen’s eyes and he felt like he might cry too. Instead of trying to speak, he took two steps forward and pulled Cullen into a hug. In the years since his father’s death, Cullen had been an amazing substitute. When Kieran decided he wanted to make a world where kings wouldn’t have to hide their heritage, Cullen bought him his first set of history books and taught him rhetoric and how to debate.

“Well,” said Cullen, wiping his eyes, “I need to get to my class. Check in with Icis before you head upstairs, okay?”

Kieran nodded and watched Cullen leave.

 

* * *

 

Kieran took the long way to the War Table. His life at Skyhold had been an interesting one. With the blight deflected, the warring nations of Thedas had realized that life could have been _much_ worse and found common ground on which to stand. The Inquisition was no longer needed in its original form. Icis and Cullen had reformed it as a vehicle for social change. Their first act was to close the new circles and open schools. The first school was, _of course_ , here at Skyhold. It taught the children of anyone who wanted to learn and could make the journey. Kieran’s first classmates were elves from Tevinter, who were formerly slaves, and discards from the dwarven caste system.

In those initial days, their classes were piecemeal, but informative. Dorian taught literature, Icis taught herbalism and animal husbandry, and Morrigan taught a class that was _supposed_ to be current politics, but was really more like political satire.

The school today was much more organized. He taught all the history classes—from the ancient Tevinter Imperium to the Sixth Blight. Cullen taught swordsmanship and tactics. Caronel had an elective on elven cooking and Valya taught riding—from horses to halla to griffons. They had all come together in a way that Kieran thought was _beautiful_ —in a way that they _never_ would have without his dad. In a way, Alistair had made _all_ of this possible. He showed the entire world that some things were more important than self-preservation. His selflessness was an inspiration.

“Icis,” Kieran called, knocking on the door of the War Room.

When she didn’t answer, he called again, peeking around the door. It was dark inside. He stepped in gingerly and poked around in the dark, looking for a candle.

Suddenly the room erupted with laughter and shouting, “Surprise!”

Kieran clutched his chest and laughed, “you nearly _killed_ me!” he called.

The room was flooded with candlelight all at once and he blinked into the faces of everyone he knew and loved.

“Mom,” he crossed to Morrigan, still laughing, “did you arrange all of this?”

Morrigan beamed, “no… I thought the whole thing was a bit garish… this was Cullen’s idea.” She motioned to him in the corner.

“I better go thank him…” said Kieran, smiling at her.

As he approached Cullen, he noticed Mia peeking around his back, giggling mischievously.

“I suppose _you_ had something to do with this?” Kieran leaned down to Mia’s level.

“I _may_ have,” she giggled.

Cullen put a hand around her shoulder, “Don’t be so modest, Mi—you were practically the mastermind of this whole plot!”

“How _sneaky_!” said Kieran, “You know, when the new school opens in Denerim, we may need someone to help Leliana teach the Bardic Arts… maybe you could be her assistant?”

Mia laughed and blushed before running to play with the other children huddled in the corner of the room.

“Thank you, Cullen,” said Kieran. “You didn’t have to go to all this _trouble_ … especially today…”

“Are you crazy?” said Cullen, putting a hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “I wasn’t about to let this day go unnoticed. It’s not every day that you win a humanitarian award—it means _even more_ that its today.”

“Kieran!” called a deep voice over his shoulder.

Kieran turned to see Dorian, with Caronel on his arm, as always. Kieran extended his hand.

“It’s nice to see you, Dorian,” said Kieran. “I see Caronel all the time, but your literature classes are sorely missed among my students.”

Dorian smiled devilishly, “You’ll have to take that up with your mother—we’ve been working on some _special projects_ for Icis, remember?”

Caronel rolled his eyes playfully, “Don’t let him fool you, Kieran, they’re mostly getting drunk on the roof and trying to turn into dragons.”

They all laughed.

“Speaking of Dragons, Carissa is wondering when you’ll be covering that in your lectures,” said Caronel.

Kieran’s eyes trailed to one of two tiny elven girls in the corner with Mia. Dorian and Caronel’s daughters were only five, but they excelled in his classes.

“Next quarter,” said Kieran. “Tell her to stick to her studies and we’ll be there before she knows it.”

Valya’s head popped up between Caronel and Dorian’s shoulders.

“Hiya, boys!” she called.

She was ten years older than Kieran, but never stopped seeming like a child.

“I have a bone to pick with you, Valya,” said Kieran. “The kids have been coming into my class lately with some very strange injuries. Donnel claimed he had been bitten by an actual griffon the other day.”

Valya smiled impishly and slinked away. Kieran laughed.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Seeing so many people from his past, Kieran couldn’t help but think of the person who _wasn’t_ there—the person without whom none of this would have happened.

Alistair had been the most wonderful king and father that Kieran could imagine. Even though he was a bit unpredictable and a _lot_ silly, he loved people fiercely and he did the right thing when it mattered. Every time Kieran hit a road block in the building of his system of integrated schools, he thought of Alistair.

The day Morrigan and Cullen told him Alistair had died, he didn’t think he would _ever_ recover. As time went on, though, he grew to realize that Alistair’s death put into motion a series of events that changed Thedas forever. First, Icis and Cullen found _peace_ —they both loved the same person, which was hard, but they channeled all their love into Mia and Kieran. Growing up at Skyhold with his sister was what made Kieran’s childhood _great_. Alistair’s sacrifice became common knowledge throughout Thedas, which went a long way toward elevating Ferelden’s status in the greater political scope as well as redeeming the Grey Wardens. When people talked about Ferelden’s late ruler, they did so in hushed whispers and with heads bowed in reverence.

“Thanks, dad,” he thought.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Cullen didn’t dare open his eyes. In the moments before he looked, he might _not_ have been alone—he imagined Alistair on his side, snoring lazily. Of course, it had been ten years since he got to wake up next to him.

Cullen sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed with effort. He didn’t want to look at the empty space next to him any longer than he had to.

“Good morning, love,” he said aloud. “Are you excited for Kieran’s ceremony this afternoon? I think his speech is going to be excellent—I helped him write it.”

Cullen stood and grabbed a pair of pants from his dresser. A tiny letter lay folded next to his drawers. It was from Kieran.

 **[** Cullen, please remember to bring the commemorative seal down to the hall this morning. Love, Kieran. **]**

He turned to look for the seal and caught his reflection in his mirror.

“Al, have I put on weight?” he asked, turning side to side to evaluate his shape. “Maker, why didn’t you _tell_ me I was getting fat?”

He laughed at his own joke, but was suddenly crying. Defeated, his sank down to the floor and leaned back against the side of his bed.

“Al…” he croaked between sobs, “I thought these anniversaries were supposed to get _easier_ … everyone said that…”

He pulled his knees into his chest and rested his face between them, still crying. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“It’s Icis… Can I come in?” she called.

“Come in…” he called begrudgingly. He hated for her to see him cry. He tried to wipe the tears away from his face, but it was very little use. From what he could see in the mirror, he looked rough.

Icis looked at him pityingly and sat next to him on the floor.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No…” said Cullen. “I’m so sick of this…” his voice caught, “I just want him back.”

He looked at her, tears blinding him.

Icis’ violet eyes were starting to look glassy too. He knew this was hard for her. He _tried_ not to be jealous—she was entitled to her feelings… but this was always their toughest time of year.

“Let’s just get through this event… we will be there for Kieran and then we’ll live to fight another day,” she tried to smile.

Cullen nodded. “I think I’m going to need a drink first, though,” he pointed to a bottle of antivan brandy on his bedside table.

“I don’t think that would send the right message…” she laughed. “I’ll see you down there, okay?”

Cullen watched Icis leave.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Nobility from every country was in attendance. Icis scanned the crowd for people she knew. She found Morrigan and Dorian sitting in the front row.

“Where’s Cullen?” asked Morrigan.

“He’s coming…” she said placidly. Then, leaning toward Morrigan, “He was _actually_ having sort of a meltdown this morning—he nearly got into the brandy before I left…”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, “fantastic.” She leaned across Icis, “Mia, when your father gets here, make sure he pays attention—if he looks like he’s nodding off, _elbow_ him.”

Mia nodded and Dorian laughed from Morrigan’s other side. The two of them had become best friends in the years since their travels. Dorian and Icis were still very close too, which helped Icis’ relationship with Morrigan considerably. Living all together at Skyhold had been _difficult_ and trying at times, but mostly it had been _wonderful_.  The only thing missing was Alistair. She didn’t usually admit it, even internally, but she could never get over him—even after his death, even _knowing_ that he loved Cullen more than life itself, even though there was _no_ future where they could be together. She clenched her jaw and tried to stop ruminating.

Cullen swaggered into the room from a side door a moment later.

“He looks _okay_ , surprisingly,” whispered Morrigan. Icis flashed her a knowing look.

“Andraste’s ass,” said Cullen under his breath.

Mia looked at him disapprovingly, “shhh, Dad…”

“What’s wrong?” asked Icis.

“I forgot the seal I was supposed to bring down! Kieran left me a note about it,” lamented Cullen.

“Too late now…” said Morrigan. She looked slightly annoyed until Kieran appeared at the back of the hall. He looked positively _scholastic_. His reddish-brown hair was tamed and his glasses were, for once, sitting squarely across his nose. His waist coat was green—it reminded Icis of the one Alistair wore in Val Royeaux. The memory made her chest hurt.

Kieran approached the podium and began to speak.

“Thank you for being here, everyone. As a history teacher, I love to look _back_ , to remember dates. Today’s date means a lot to me—not _only_ because it commemorates the Inquisition’s humanitarian goals, but because it marks the tenth anniversary of the Sixth Blight’s defeat by King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden— _my father_.”

The audience breathed in unison at the mention of Alistair’s name.

“In my history classes, we explore not only facts, but _nuances_ —the shading that makes the past meaningful. King Alistair was not only the ruler of a great nation, but a Grey Warden—we all know this because we’ve read it. But he was also a father, a partner,” he looked at Cullen pointedly, “a friend, and an ally—and he was _funny_!”

The crowd laughed.

“He used to tell me the most _ridiculous_ stories. I thought they were true for a long time until Cullen told me that he used to write them in his journal and test them out on him first.”

Cullen stifled back a sob, but smiled.

“Well, _today_ , as part of our academic study of history,” continued Kieran, “I would like to unveil a never-before-seen historical account of the events leading up to the Sixth Blight as told by my father, Alistair.”

 

 **[** These last nine days I’ve watched over Cullen during his recovery. During that time, I’ve worried and I’ve fussed, and I’ve _cried_ , but I think I also discovered something. As long as he’s okay, I’m okay— _period_. So no matter what happens now, my goal is to make sure I take care of him. …I _love_ him. It took me completely by surprise. It isn’t _hard_ —loving him is as easy as breathing. I’ve never understood how people could prioritize anything above survival—I thought of myself as a preservationist—but _now_ it couldn’t be more clear—there is _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for him. **]**

           

“Alistair wrote these words just a few months before his untimely end. In looking at history, we can see actions and names and dates, _or_ we can see people, doing _incredible_ things. I would like to thank all of you for this award and for your continued support of the inquisition’s school network. As a special gift and commemoration, I would like to give this book of entries and short stories to Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford, of the Inquisition—my _second_ father. Thank you.”

Kieran stepped down from the podium and bowed his head. The crowd erupted into applause and people clapped Cullen on the back as they passed him. From Icis’ perspective, he looked overwhelmed.

“Cullen!” called Kieran, trying to get through the crowd.

Cullen pushed his way to Kieran and pulled him into the roughest of hugs.

“I love you,” said Kieran, his mouth full of Cullen’s feathered cape.

He laughed and cried. When they separated, he handed Cullen the tiny bound leather book.

“I knew as soon as I found this that he would want you to have it. It’s basically _all_ about you,” said Kieran smiling.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Cullen pulling the book into his chest.

“Think about it, and maybe write it down,” he handed Cullen a twin to the tattered book and a quill. “It’s what _he_ would have done.”


	48. Ending Four: Altruism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is buckling under the weight of this decision when something unexpected happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting into the thick of the less likely possibilities. I love this one. 
> 
> Also, FYI, my little ficlet "Father's Day" fits into this ending.

**Alistair**

The weight of this decision crushed across his chest. His eyes darted back and forth between Cullen and Bella. When he landed on Bella’s, he noticed their centers were beginning to cool—the burning red that had been there a moment ago had melted into a sickly yellow that he recognized from the ending of the Fifth Blight.

 _That_ was when he realized that there was no way out. There was no one to swoop down to save them. There was _no_ Maker, _no_ Andraste, and _no_ magic dark or bloody enough to get them out of this predicament. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and drew in a breath to begin his charge toward Bella—the charge that would kill the man he loved and probably himself as well.

That’s when he heard it—the flap of leathery wings. He opened his eyes in horror, but to his surprise, it was _not_ Bella who had transformed—it was Morrigan. Her own version of a dragon—not evil and rotting like an Archdemon, but majestic purple scales that glinted in the low lighting of the cave.

“Morrigan!” screamed Alistair. His voice didn’t rise over the din of her wings, but she turned her gigantic head to look at him for a second before swooping down into Bella. During her dive, Bella hastily finished her transformation, her bones cracking audibly. Black, tattered wings erupted from her spine and her body grew to the point where the lovely elven woman he once knew was gone.

In the haste of her transformation, Bella dropped Cullen— _threw_ him—toward the rock face where Alistair was standing, transfixed.

“Cullen!” he screamed, scrambling to grab him.

Alistair laid Cullen across his lap and ripped his breastplate away to inspect the damage in his side. It was bleeding extensively, but not nearly as much as Alistair feared. Alistair pulled his shirt off over his head and pushed the balled up material into Cullen’s side.

Above them, the screeching was deafening and the room was heating up incredibly fast from all the fire. Morrigan’s dragon sunk its claws into the archdemon’s wing and _ripped_ , leaving it spinning, trying to regain its balance. That was when Alistair realized it was over—the still-transforming-archdemon wailed and lost height as Morrigan continued to breathe fire into its face from above. It fell, unbelievably slowly, below the edge of the cliff, out of Alistair’s sight. Suddenly everything was quiet.

Morrigan alighted on the edge of the cliff, herself again, and ran to Alistair’s side.

“Morrigan, you saved us— _all of us_ ,” cried Alistair. His heart was full.

Morrigan’s eyes danced with fire—still dragon-like, “We’re _all_ parents now. We have to be there for Kieran.”

Alistair pulled the cloth away from Cullen’s side and Morrigan almost instantly closed the wound. Cullen’s face brightened and he coughed.

“Can you stand?” asked Morrigan. “Normally, I wouldn’t ask, but I’m eager to get out of here.”

Cullen nodded and threw his arm around Alistair’s shoulders for support. Morrigan waved her hand and the cave wall crumbled in front of them. Alistair helped Cullen hobble through the wall first.

Half-way down the hall a screaming, guttural screech hit the back of his head and he whirled. Morrigan was being dragged toward the edge of the cliff; a huge talon had pierced through one side of her waist and out the other. Alistair pushed Cullen against a wall and ran back up the hallway to the small chamber, but she raised a hand.

The small door began to fill in right in front of him. Before he lost sight of her, she shook her head slightly and managed a smile.

“Morrigan!” he screamed as he reached the door. “No!!!! Morrigan!!” He banged on the door in rage.

 

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

“And that, is why conditions for mages need to change,” said Kieran. “I’d like to thank all of you for your time today and request that you direct any questions to my aids. I’ll see all of you back here tomorrow for your decision. Thanks again.”

Kieran stepped back from the committee and bowed his head. Before he turned away, he saw the Divine and Leliana exchange a look. This was a big day—the day that the last ten years of work might _finally_ pay off. Since the moment Cullen and Alistair returned from that fateful trip to the Feral Fjords, they had worked tirelessly to change the way that Thedas thought about the practice of magic. The driving force behind this, of course, had been Morrigan’s valiant rescue of the Inquisition’s Commander and the King of Ferelden. Her defeat of the emerging archdemon also suggested that Grey Wardens were not the _only_ ones who could defeat a blight. Whether Morrigan possessed some special powers or it was something _any_ mage could cultivate was unclear, but that was exactly what needed to be studied.

In the hallway, Fiona caught Kieran by the sleeve. “How did it go?” she asked.

“I think pretty well,” answered Kieran.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. It was a habit he picked up from Cullen—his _father_. He wasn’t in the habit of calling Cullen “dad,” but he often referred to him as such when he talked to other people. “Dad,” was his name for Alistair.

“If they don’t approve our request for a research team _this time_ , I don’t know _what_ it will take to convince them…” he said bitterly.

Fiona smiled at him, “I’m sure you did really well… are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“A little,” admitted Kieran. “It’s not every day that the Divine and the leaders of every major country sit in one place and talk to a 22-year-old kid…” he laughed.

Fiona smiled. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

 

* * *

 

Kieran nodded and started down the circuitous hallways of Skyhold. Every time he visited, he wasn’t sure where was going. Because of Alistair and Cullen’s important jobs, he split his time between the two places, but he strongly preferred Denerim. He learned its layout and secret hallways almost instantly. Something about Skyhold seemed foreboding and he had a mental block about becoming too familiar with it. Maybe it was because he spent time there as a small child—it had too many memories of his mother etched into its stone.

Around the corner, a little girl flew directly into him, crashing against his gut.

“Ouch! Mia!” he yelled and laughed. “You nearly knocked the wind out of me…”

His sister laughed wildly. “A bunch of other kids are chasing me, but I think I’m lost—I never know where I am here…”

He laughed to himself—maybe _everyone_ felt that way about Skyhold. Mia and Kieran got to grow up together in Denerim. While Mia missed Icis for half the year, she loved living with Cullen and Alistair almost as much as Kieran did, so it seemed worth it. It made the reunions with her mother all the sweeter. Kieran, by contrast, never got to feel very close to Icis. He _wished_ he could. He knew things were awkward between her and Alistair, though.

“Just make sure you find your way to the great hall before dinner, okay?” said Kieran.

“I will…” said Mia. A strange expression crossed her face.

“What is it?” asked Kieran.

“Are mom and Alistair going to be _okay_ this time?” she asked.

It was like she read his mind. One of the major sources of Kieran's distaste for Skyhold was that Icis lived there. He _liked_ her, but there was something unresolved between her and Alistair—it came out in odd ways when they spent time together.

“To be honest, I’m not sure…” he answered. “But Mia, it’s just one night and then you’ll be heading back to Denerim with our dads.”

“You’re right, I guess…” She bit her lip and looked over her shoulder. “I think I hear them… gotta go!”

Mia took off running down the hall and waved to him before she rounded another corner.

 

* * *

 

When he finally found the way to his guest quarters, he opened the door gently. It was pitch black inside—someone must have forgotten he was staying here and didn’t light his fire. He bumped around in the dark looking for a candle.

All of a sudden, the room was flooded with magical light. “Surprise!” yelled everyone he had ever known.

He clutched his chest and laughed, “you almost killed me!”

Fiona was next to him, gradually lighting more candles and fires throughout the room.

“Did you plan all this?” he asked.

“You have my son to thank for this one,” she said pointing to Alistair on the far corner of the room.

“I better go thank him,” said Kieran.

Alistair was beaming as Kieran got closer. Cullen was talking to a few other guests on his left but his hand was still resting in the small of Alistair's back. They were _always_ like this—attached.

“Thanks, dad,” said Kieran. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble…”

“Are you crazy? I wasn’t going to let this day go unnoticed,” said Alistair.

Cullen leaned his chin on Alistair’s shoulder and smirked, “—and _someone_ loves parties.”

Alistair turned his head and glared for a fraction of a second before kissing Cullen’s cheek.

"Seriously, Kieran,” said Cullen, coming around to put a hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “We are so proud of you—regardless of the outcome tomorrow.”

“What is your feeling about the whole thing?” asked Alistair.

Kieran rubbed the back of his neck again. “I’m not sure… Divine Victoria was _listening_ , but I don't know if she has come far enough to agree to the _scope_ of the research we’re proposing.”

A deep voice bellowed behind him, “Kieran! You’ll have at least one person on your side tomorrow.”

It was Dorian, with Caronel in tow. Dorian had been appointed Ambassador for the Tevinter Imperium to the Inquisition through a set of bizarre circumstances. This was a boon for Kieran, though, because Dorian got to cast a vote tomorrow.

“Dorian!” he called, extending his arm. “It’s so good to see you—I was worried when you weren't in the meeting earlier.”

Dorian frowned, “We had a bit of trouble getting the girls packed up in time.”

He gave Caronel a sideways look. Their daughters were only five, but rambunctious. He scanned the room and found them playing in the corner with Mia and a few other children.

Kieran laughed as they clapped him on the back and gave him their congratulations.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Kieran was congratulated so many times, he almost thought the vote had come out in his favor already. Tucking himself into bed, he took an inventory of his life. He had done so much more than any 22-year-old had the right to. It was like being young and headstrong was a family tradition. That was when Morrigan popped into his head. The woman without whom none of this would have happened.

Looking back, Kieran realized that Morrigan's death put into motion a series of events that profoundly impacted his life. He often wondered why she closed the wall when Alistair tried to run back to save her— _that_ was the part of the story he couldn't quite understand. Now, though, he thought he knew. Bella and Morrigan were best friends. Morrigan loved Bella almost as much as Morrigan loved Kieran. In her heroism, Morrigan had provided Kieran with the most wonderful parents he could imagine. Cullen and Alistair were doting and kind and supportive—and _happy_.

"Thanks, mom," thought Kieran.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

In the moments before Alistair opened his eyes, he searched the bed with his fingertips for Cullen's body, but found the bed empty. For a split second, he thought he had dreamed the last ten years. He shot up, panicked, but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Cullen sitting at the desk across the room.

"You're up early," he mused.

Cullen smiled, "just catching up on some requisitions. I wanted to let you sleep."

Alistair crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Cullen's shoulders.

"Well, I'm up now…" he said into the skin of Cullen's neck.

Cullen turned his face to meet Alistair's and smiled.

"Can we just do this whole waking up thing again?" asked Alistair, laughing. "Come back to bed and pretend to be asleep for just a minute… it scares me when you're not there when I wake up."

He grabbed Cullen's hands and led him back to the bed. Cullen was laughing too, as he slipped under the covers. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Alistair rolled onto his right side and pretended to snore. Cullen laughed again.

"Hey," said Alistair, "You're supposed to be asleep…"

"Okay, okay," said Cullen, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes again.

Alistair rolled over, eyes still closed, and draped an arm over Cullen's chest, kneading the soft skin with his palm.

"Good morning," said Alistair, opening his eyes.

Cullen played along, yawning sleepily.

"I love you," said Alistair, pulling his head into the space between Cullen's arm and chest.

"I love you too," said Cullen. He kissed Alistair's forehead.

"See?" said Alistair, leaning up on his elbow. "Wasn't that better?"

Cullen laughed again. "You're _crazy_."

"I know…" Alistair made a face, "Do you think it's contagious?" He gasped and laughed.

Cullen craned his neck to kiss him.

"We have to get going," he said, "Kieran left a note for you. It's on the desk."

Alistair pursed his lips, still not letting Cullen out from under him. "Do you think it will come out in his favor today?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," said Cullen thoughtfully. "I _hope_ so…"

"Hmm…" said Alistair. He kissed Cullen once more and hopped out of bed to look at the note.

 **[** Dad, please remember to bring the Grey Warden documents to the vote today—they're part of the evidence I want to present if things start to go sour. Thanks! (Also, Cullen, can you please remind him _when_ he forgets?) **]**

Alistair laughed. "Did you already read this?"

Cullen smiled, "about an hour ago… how many times should I remind you?"

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Sitting behind the long row of desks at the head of the room, Icis felt the eyes of the crowd on her. She was voting on behalf of the Inquisition, of course. She scanned the hall for people she knew. Dorian sneaked in behind her and sat in the seat next to hers.

"I was afraid you weren't going to make it!" she said, smiling.

"Kieran said that too," said Dorian, smirking. "You people must think I'm awfully flighty if I would miss _this_."

Icis elbowed him in the ribs and laughed.

"How many votes do you think we have?" she asked.

"At least forty percent?" he mused. "I'm just hoping Kieran's speech is _good_ … it might tip the balance in our favor."

"I'm sure it will be—Cullen helped him write it," she said.

The large doors at the back of the hall swung open noisily and Alistair burst in wearing a green waistcoat and gold crown—slightly askew. He looked exactly as he had in Val Royeaux. Icis' breath caught. She usually didn't admit it—even to herself—but she could never get over him. It made these years difficult. For the first few years, she _tried_ to make their dysfunctional family unit work—but seeing him with Cullen every day wore on her and eventually she decided that staying with the Inquisition full time was in everyone's best interest. The months that Mia stayed with her were joyous, but she knew that Cullen and Alistair took wonderful care of her, so she never worried, despite an occasional twinge of maternal guilt.

Alistair came to sit on her other side. She felt his nervous energy as he pulled his chair in close to hers.

"So?" he said, "what do we think?"

Alistair leaned across Icis to look at the rest of the voting parties. For a _moment_ , they breathed the same air.

"I think his speech is going to be wonderful," she said, looking into his honey-brown irises.

She blinked—it was the closest she had been to his face in years.

Alistair smiled, " _That's_ not up for debate—Cullen helped him write it."

The spell was broken at the mention of his name. Icis leaned back in her chair and looked up as Kieran entered the hall. He looked _powerful_. His purple waistcoat was crisply pressed and he wore a feathered cape around his neck—reminiscent of the one Cullen usually donned. It made him look older, in a good way. A hush fell over the crowd as he approached the podium.

 

"Thank you, everyone, for being here," he began. "Over the last several months, you have all had a chance to review the evidence I have collected about mages and their impact on blights, among other things. Now, it's time to take this to a vote."

Kieran nodded to his assistants, who were posted at either end of the long table. They began to pass pieces of parchment and quills to each of the voting parties.

"There is one thing I would like to say before we take this to a vote," said Kieran.

The crowd looked up from their papers and waited, silently.

"Today is the tenth anniversary of the day we avoided the blight—the tenth anniversary of my mother's _death_. The reason we are _all_ here today is that Morrigan gave her life for us. She was a mage— _not_ trained in any circle, _not_ shielded by a dalish Keeper, but allowed to develop her magical skills on her own."

He paused and looked at Cullen, who was sitting in the gallery below.

"She had the foresight to see that we would all accomplish great things—even if she wasn’t here—using the tools she gave us. She was a very private person, but she cared about the people she loved _intensely_. I'd like to read something she wrote:

 **[** Dear Kieran, if you're reading this, something has happened to me—probably something of my own design. I hope you won't be angry, although anger is a natural part of sadness. I'm leaving you in the most adept of hands—Cullen promises he'll help Alistair look after you. **]**

Scattered laughter wafted over the crowd.

 **[** I love you more than you could ever recognize and I know that whatever you do, it will be just and kind and _fierce_. Goodbye. **]**

The crowd sighed in unison.

"Those of us who knew my mother also know that she didn't care about mage politics, but I _know_ she would have cared about this because this _isn't_ political. _This_ is about learning what makes our world work. Morrigan never stopped learning, and she taught me—all of us—that we shouldn't stop either."

He paused—calculated and strong.

"Thank you for your attention. I appreciate your votes."

As Kieran stepped down from the podium, people in the gallery clapped him on the back and whispered congratulations. Icis picked up her quill and signed her name. Looking furtively down the row of dignitaries, she thought she saw enough signatures.

 

* * *

 

The waiting was excruciating. When the Divine finally counted all the votes, she stood and raised a hand. A hush fell over the crowd as everyone waited.

"After much consideration," began Cassandra, "and a fair vote, we _will_ be moving forward with the proposed research."

Everyone jumped to their feet, Kieran was hugged from all sides below them.

Alistair cheered and turned toward Icis with his arms open. She collided with his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso. For the second they were connected, she felt at _home_.

"Cullen!" he suddenly yelled, breaking away from her. "We did it!"

Cullen ran to Alistair and kissed him hard. Icis winced and slinked down from her perch to find Kieran in the milieu.

"Congratulations!" she called when she saw him.

"Thanks, Icis," said Kieran. "I couldn't have done it without you—all of you." He looked around the room at all his supporters.

Icis smiled. "Morrigan would have loved your speech. I bet she _does_ , actually… wherever she is."


	49. Ending Five: Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair can't kill Cullen--he won't. [A very different variation of 'Alistair agrees to the deal'.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some sexual themes here... nothing too graphic.

**Alistair**

Alistair hung his head in defeat. There was _no_ scenario where he could let Cullen die—not when he could do something to stop it…even something _reprehensible_.

The burgeoning Archdemon cackled through Bella's mouth. Her previously beautiful lips cracked into a disgusting shape that mirrored the loathing he felt for himself. As he watched Bella transform, he thought his own heart might be transforming along with her. This sacrifice was despicable—but he _loved_ Cullen. He loved him more than he loved himself. He loved him more than was reasonable. He loved him more than he loved the whole world.

The look on Cullen's face was crushing. If Cullen had been stronger, Alistair was _sure_ he would have punched him. Alistair thought he deserved it.

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

 

“And that,” said Kieran seriously, “is why our dads aren’t together anymore.”

Mia squinted up at him. “But I _remember_ ,” she argued. “They used to _love_ each other.”

Kieran remembered that too. It had been a long time, though.

“Things _change_ , Mia,” Kieran wiped a palm across his forehead. He wondered what had _really_ happened, though. From what he could see it wasn’t _anything_ —nothing he could discern anyway. One morning six years ago he bounded into their room in Denerim and found Alistair in bed with some _woman_ —an Orlesian ambassador, he would later discover. He felt his face flush and thought he might throw up. Kieran turned on his heel and ran out into the hallway. He’d _cried_.

“But they still love _you_ , Mia,” concluded Kieran. It was odd trying to explain this to his sister. She was only 10—there was no reason she should have to deal with this. Kieran cursed internally—if Alistair had just been more _discreet_ , they wouldn’t be having this conversation. He’d let his latest dalliance get too public—brought her to _dinner_.

“I don’t understand—I just saw them together the other day,” said Mia. She was starting to tremble.

They still made a show of it in public. After the blight ended, they'd gone through an enormous ordeal to have Alistair's marriage to Anora annulled so they could get married themselves. Kieran guessed Cullen and Alistair couldn't publically separate for _political_ reasons.

Kieran wasn’t sure what else to say. Thankfully, Icis rounded the corner at that exact moment.

“Hi Mia,” she sat on the floor next to them. “Are you okay?”

Mia shook her head.

“Tell me what happened,” said Icis. She gave Kieran a little nod and he excused himself into the hallway. Around the corner, he ran into Cullen. He looked stressed. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his palm with more urgency than usual.

“Hey,” said Kieran.

Cullen stopped next to one of the great stone corridor walls and leaned in. “Is she okay?”

Kieran sighed, “she _will_ be… she was just a little shaken up.” He paused. “Cullen, _why_ do you put up with him?”

Cullen looked taken aback.

“Why not just _leave_?” asked Kieran. “You deserve so much better…”

“No, I don’t,” said Cullen quietly.

Kieran squinted at him.

“It’s a long story… not worth getting into…” mumbled Cullen. “I have to check on Mia—thanks for taking her out of there.”

Kieran nodded, “Of course…” He didn’t start walking yet, though. “Cullen?” he paused, “I hope you know that I love you…”

Cullen smiled. He looked sadder and older than Kieran had ever seen him.

“...you’re a much better father than Alistair ever was…” concluded Kieran bitterly.

Cullen's brow furrowed. "Just get some rest… you have a big day tomorrow." He left down the hallway in the direction Kieran came from.

 

* * *

 

On the way back to his room, Kieran contemplated his life. He'd been through so much more than any 22-year-old had a right to. He'd seen so much—so much _death_. When Morrigan, Cullen, and Alistair returned from that Thaig, he knew something was wrong. Even as a boy—he could tell that they shouldn't have _all_ returned while a blight began to ravage the land. In the years since then, he'd asked Morrigan a hundred times, but she never revealed anything.

When Alistair and Cullen finally split up, Kieran had a feeling it had to do with that damn Thaig. He wished _none_ of them had ever gone there. The outcome would have been the same, of course—there _still_ would have been a blight. Or maybe Bella would have been successful in jumping off the cliff. Maybe their interference actually _ruined_ everything.

Inside his room, he bolted the door and leaned back against it for support. Tomorrow was a big day—he was meeting the woman he was supposed to marry. Her name was Adele. He had been anticipating this day for weeks. He hadn't seen her yet, but he _had_ seen one of her attendants. _She_ started this whole mess when she'd ended up at dinner next to Alistair—more like _on_ Alistair. Despite everything he'd been through, Alistair had never managed to _grow up_. Kieran felt embarrassed to be related to him.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Morning**

**Alistair**

Before Alistair opened his eyes, he rolled onto his left side. In doing so, he nearly crushed a small, lithe body. He peeked from under his eyelids to see beautiful honey colored skin and a mess of black hair on the pillow next to him.

“Good morning, your Majesty,” said the girl. Her accent was thickly Orlesian.

“Good morning,” he ran a palm along the her spine that eventually landed on the apex of her tailbone. He pushed the sheets down as he went, exposing her back to the sunlight. “Did you sleep well?”

“As much as you’d _let_ me, your Grace,” she laughed, propping her chin up on her palms in front of her. Her breasts brushed against the soft pillow beneath her forearms. Alistair reached around her back and cupped one.

“There’s still time for a little more not-sleeping, you know,” he rolled her into his arms until his cock settled against the cleft of her ass. She moaned as he ground his hips into her.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

“Alistair,” said Cullen angrily, “we need to _talk_.”

In the past, Alistair might have scrambled to sit up and cover himself, but he didn’t today. Instead, he rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, watching the scene unfold. The woman in bed with him jumped up frantically, taking their sheet with her. The cold air hit Alistair’s skin pricklingly. Cullen didn’t look at her as she hastily left, slamming the door behind her.

“Well?” asked Alistair when they were alone, “what is it?” His erection was slowly dying, but Alistair didn’t move to cover himself—he noticed Cullen looking at him and decided to wait it out.

“For Andraste’s sake, Al,” cursed Cullen, “put some clothes on.” He threw Alistair a shirt from the dresser.

Alistair caught it, but put it down next to him.

“I’ve been very tolerant, you know…” began Cullen darkly. “...of all _this_ …” he gestured to the state of what used to be _their_ room. “But when you get _my_ daughter involved, that’s where I have to draw the line.”

Alistair sat up and scoffed, “ _your_ daughter? I thought she was _our_ daughter…”

Cullen rolled his eyes, “that hasn’t been true in _years_ … not since you started acting like—” he cut himself off.

Alistair dropped his feet off the edge of the bed and faced Cullen. They were only a foot apart. He still didn’t cover up—it was an act of defiance.

“When did you stop loving me?” asked Alistair.

“When you started acting like a complete asshole,” scoffed Cullen.

Alistair knew that wasn’t true, though. Publically, he knew it _seemed_ like he was a philanderer, but in truth, his affairs hadn’t started until much later—long after Cullen started sleeping alone.

“Please,” said Alistair. It was almost _kind_. He hadn’t been alone with Cullen in so long, he had forgotten what it felt like to be near him. It made him softer. “Just tell me…”

Cullen threw his feathered cape off and let it land somewhere in the periphery. Alistair wasn’t sure what that gesture was supposed to mean.

“What did I do that made you stop?” asked Alistair. His smugness from earlier had evaporated. In its place, he was left with only the harsh sting of rejection.

Cullen squinted at him. “Are you serious?”

Alistair bit his bottom lip and nodded.

“That day on the ledge… the day everything changed…” Cullen started to pace. “You made the deal that could have ruined the entire world!” He stopped short and glared.

“But it _didn’t_ ,” said Alistair. “Valya killed the Archdemon in less than half a year. It was the fastest victory over the blight in history.”

They stared at each other.

“...and Cullen,” Alistair stammered, “you married me _after_ that… we lived together for years _after_ that… you told me you _loved_ me every night _after_ that—”

“Until I _couldn’t_ anymore,” interrupted Cullen. “After a while, I stopped being able to tolerate it: the way you see everything in shades of gray—the way you _justify_ your actions.” He stepped closer to Alistair until his hips were between Alistair’s knees against the bed. “Your _lies_ …”

“What lies?” asked Alistair defensively.

“The lie you told every time someone mentioned Valya’s name!” yelled Cullen. He leaned into Alistair’s face threateningly. For the first time, Alistair wished he’d gotten dressed. He felt exposed. “The lie of _omission_! The lie that you made _me_ complicit in!”

“Cullen…” Alistair tried to shift away from Cullen, but failed. “I did it for _you_. I love you… I did then—and I do now…" he admitted, "I could _never_ have let her kill you.”

Cullen opened his mouth as if to speak, but didn’t say anything. His lips hung in suspended animation—slightly parted.

A second later, Alistair was pushed backward into the bed. Cullen was on top of him, kissing every inch of skin she could manage to reach. Alistair reached his arms around Cullen's back and kneaded the skin between his pants and waistcoat. He sighed into Cullen's ear. It had been so long since Cullen kissed him. For a split second, he thought he'd been _forgiven_.

But Cullen suddenly backed up— _ripped_ himself away. "Is _that_ what you want?" he asked viciously.

Alistair sat up, letting his chest collapse in on itself. Cullen's cruelty made him feel like a boy again.

"You've been fucking some Orlesian _girl_ half your age all morning and you think I'd be with you _now_?" yelled Cullen.

Alistair was ashamed. He grabbed a pillow and put it across his lap.

"This idiotic behavior is just so typical for you…" said Cullen. He was pacing now. "You just do whatever you want and damn the consequences."

Alistair tried to keep his face neutral, but a lump was forming painfully in his throat.

"If you were _really_ in love with me," said Cullen, stopping right in front of him, "You would have fought for me." His eyes burned.

" _What_?" said Alistair. He was flabbergasted. "What could I have possibly done that I didn't do? I chased you all over the castle for months. I _begged_ you to come back to me!" He dropped his forehead into his palm. "I would have done _anything_."

"Anything except the _one_ thing I needed," said Cullen quietly.

Alistair squinted up at him. He had no idea what that could be.

"… _confessed_ …" said Cullen. "I wanted you to confess. To someone—anyone. Tell them what we did…"  
"What good would _that_ do?!" yelled Alistair. Confessing never would have occurred to him because he still didn't think he'd done anything other than what he _had_ to—keeping Cullen alive was always his top priority.

"It would have proven you were _good_ , Al— _worthy_ of redemption," Cullen was yelling again. "Instead, you've shown your hand—you were never the person I thought you were at all."

Alistair lost the battle with tears. He felt the first one fall before he knew he was crying.

"I'm _leaving_ in the morning," said Cullen. "I can't stand this anymore."

Alistair felt an urge to vomit. "Cullen…" he whispered. "I need you… please don't go."

Cullen scoffed. "I'm sure you'll find someone else to replace me." He gestured disparagingly to Alistair's mess of a bed—his activities were obvious, based on the state of the sheets.

Alistair knew, though, that none of that would ever matter. He'd _tried_ —all sorts of people had been here with him… but none of them meant anything. They might as well have been his own right hand.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

Downstairs, the room had already begun to fill. In order to finalize Kieran's impending nuptials, a variety of people had to agree to the terms. Icis was not exempt from this process. She found an inconspicuous seat in the back of the meeting room and waited for people she knew to show up. Caronel appeared at the front of the room and mustered a weak smile when he saw her.

Even though the Sixth Blight was the shortest on record, it had changed everything. Most notably, they'd lost people— _friends_. Dorian was among the first to succumb to blight sickness. She remembered Caronel holding his hand near the end. They hadn't been able to move him from the Inn at Laysh. Caronel eventually ended it for him—Dorian didn't want to waste away in agony or lose his mind. She remembered the wet sound of his dagger as it plunged into Dorian's side. Whenever Icis saw Caronel, she saw remnants of that pain etched into his face.

"How are you today?" asked Caronel. He tried to smile.

Icis sighed, " _Okay_ … did you hear about what happened yesterday?"

Caronel shook his head.

"Alistair brought one of Adele's attendants to _dinner_ ," she blinked slowly.

Caronel's eyes widened. "What is _wrong_ with him?"

Icis let her eyes lose focus over Caronel's shoulder. "He's acting out to hurt Cullen, I think."

Caronel scoffed—a sad, strangled noise in his throat.

“What is it?” asked Icis, leaning in closer to his face.

“It’s just…” he paused. “They have spent the last few years hurting each other on purpose… but they _love_ each other…” he looked up at her painfully, “…and they’re both still _here_.”

Icis’ breath caught.

“If Dorian were here…” continued Caronel, “I would do anything to make sure we stayed together—no matter _what_ he’d done…”

Icis let her gaze drift toward the floor. They had all lost so much. Cullen was suddenly next to her. He looked flushed.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Fine,” he said. His affect was flat—he was certainly _not_ fine, but she could tell he didn’t want to talk about it.

The three of them chatted idly while they waited for Morrigan, who would surely sit on Caronel’s other side—they were quite close now. When she arrived, she smiled at them, but looked stressed. Icis knew she was _not_ in favor of Kieran being married off to some Orlesian—especially in the name of politics.

In Icis’ periphery, she saw Alistair. He entered the room, but didn’t approach them. Although he was wearing a freshly polished gold crown, he looked harried.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, everyone.”

The Ferelden members of the group fell silent first. The Orlesians were quick to follow.

“Before we finalize this _arrangement_ ,” Alistair paused, “I need to _confess_ something.”

Icis and Cullen exchanged a look—he was pale.

Alistair swallowed hard, “The Sixth Blight was entirely my fault.”

The crowd erupted with whispers and sighs. Icis almost _tackled_ him to stop him from talking. The only people who knew this secret were Morrigan, Cullen and _her_.

He continued, “I made a deal to keep someone _alive_ —” He looked at Cullen piercingly across the group. “…the love of my life…” Icis thought he might be on the edge of crying, based on the way his voice shook.

“…and I realize that it was _wrong_ —I knew it then too…” he took several slow steps toward where Cullen was sitting and kneeled in front of him. “But I could _never_ imagine having done anything else.”

Icis watched, awestruck, as Cullen’s face changed. The icy exterior she’d seen him don for the last six or seven years melted away, revealing something soft and gentle—the Cullen who had rubbed her abdomen when Mia was still a _thought_ , the Cullen who held Alistair’s hand in Laysh, the Cullen who let himself _feel_.

“I love you,” said Alistair. He had stopped addressing everyone—this had become a private conversation that the rest of them were awkwardly witnessing.

The silence around them didn’t last long. Everyone was suddenly shouting. Some people wanted Alistair to step down from the throne, some wanted his _execution_.

“You better get out of here,” whispered Icis between them.

Alistair and Cullen nodded to her and snuck out the back in the frenzy that followed—hand in hand.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

“This way,” said Alistair. He pulled a tapestry aside from the wall to reveal a secret door.

Cullen followed him into the dark passageway. “I can’t believe you did that,” he breathed.

Alistair stopped and turned toward him, “You said that’s what you needed…”

Cullen thought his head might explode. He wanted Alistair to come clean; that was true. But now that he had, it meant they would have to _run_. He flattened his palm against Alistair’s chest and pushed him back against the wall.

“I love you,” whispered Cullen. He kissed him—endlessly more gently than he had in his earlier tirade. “I _never_ stopped.”

Alistair wrapped his arms around Cullen’s waist and pulled him closer. “I’m so sorry, Cullen.” He rested his chin on Cullen’s shoulder and spoke into his ear. “I don’t know what I was thinking… I should have been braver—I should have just _asked_ you what you needed…”

Cullen was shushing him and running his fingers through Alistair’s hair.

“We could have avoided all these years of being miserable,” Alistair sighed.

“But we can’t go back,” whispered Cullen. “So let’s go _forward_.”

He pulled away enough to look into Alistair’s eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the passage, he could tell Alistair was trying not to cry.

“Let’s go,” he reiterated.

Alistair nodded and interlaced their fingers between them. “It’s going to be an adventure, you know…”

Cullen smirked.

“I don’t know where we’ll go… but wherever we are, we’ll be _together_ ,” said Alistair.

Cullen squeezed his hand as they began to walk.


	50. Ending Six: Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair doesn't get a chance to decide--fate decides for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you guys are probably going to think I'm insane... but this is my favorite ending. It's not the most plausible.. and it's not my canon, per se... but it captures something raw and miserable that really speaks to me. Let me know what you think! :)

**Alistair**

Alistair closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. He had inexplicable time to think. In the moment before he opened his eyes, he had _decided_ —to kill the only two people he had ever really loved in his whole life and probably himself in the process. At least Kieran would grow up in a world without a blight.

A scream broke Alistair's reverie. His face turned from sadness to horror as he put together the scene in front of him. Cullen grabbed a concealed dagger from his left hip and drove it up into Bella's side. She staggered forward, bleeding profusely, and fell to her knees, letting Cullen go in the process. Morrigan grabbed her as she fell.

Alistair grasped Cullen around the waist and helped him stand.

"What have you _done_?" yelled Alistair over the din.

Cullen looked up at him questioningly.

"You're not a warden—the old god is—she's going to—" Alistair stumbled over the words.

If anyone other than a Grey Warden killed an archdemon, the soul would transfer to the perpetrator. Alistair's head was buzzing with fear and shock.

Morrigan was cooing over Bella behind him, trying to close her wounds ineffectively.

"Morrigan," choked Bella. Red blood was coating her bottom lip. "It's okay, just hold me."

Morrigan's eyes filled with tears. Alistair watched, dumbstruck, as Morrigan _sobbed_ —her entire body shook. She let her head fall onto Bella's chest and whispered something Alistair couldn't hear. A moment later, Bella's eyes looked up unseeingly and Morrigan screamed into the void of the cave. Alistair propped Cullen against a rock formation and ran to Morrigan's side. He knelt next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned suddenly and glared. Alistair retracted his hand slightly, but before he lost contact, she softened and let her head drop into the hollow of his chest.

"I'm sorry," said Alistair quietly, "I'm so sorry…" He wrapped both arms around Morrigan and realized that he was crying too.

 

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

"And that," said Kieran authoritatively, "is what we're up against out there…"

Kieran looked from face to face. These new warden recruits seemed even younger than the last group. He felt nervousness building in his gut.

"Any questions?" he asked.

A small blonde elf in the back of the group raised her hand, "Why has no one been able to apprehend Inquisitor Rutherford so far?"

That was the question everyone asked—how could one man be powerful enough to take over the Inquisition, overthrow the governments of Thedas and send everyone running? The answer was complex and didn't reflect well on anyone Kieran loved. In the moments before Bella died, she and Morrigan devised a plan—a plan to keep a portion of the soul's power in Bella. Morrigan _could_ have saved her—she had enough magic to do that and then some, but Cullen would have immediately become the archdemon. By killing Bella in those last moments, the transfer was incomplete.

What no one knew at the time was that being touched by an old god's soul—even for a moment— _changed_ a person. It didn't show right away, but by the time they all reached Skyhold, Cullen was _different_. Kieran noticed it mostly in the way he was with Alistair—cold and dismissive.

"Many have underestimated him before—but we won't, will we?" he asked, smiling. This was his _political_ answer. Frequent repetition had refined it.

The recruits smiled and nodded back to him.

"All right, get back to the barracks and be ready for your joining tomorrow—it's a big day for all of you... and it's okay to be scared… _I_ was… _trust me_ ," said Kieran finally.

The last four years as a Grey Warden had been full of danger, but he had grown to respect the order. The most alarming discovery about Cullen's condition was that he was slightly immortal. In the same way that only Grey Wardens could kill archdemons, normal people weren't able to make any impact on Cullen. He _healed_ almost instantly. It was strange taking in new recruits without a Blight, but necessary—it had become the new norm.

 

* * *

 

On his way back to his quarters, he felt nervous. Tomorrow was a big day for _him_ too. He was being reassigned as Warden Commander of Amaranthine—a post Bella once held. The irony wasn't lost on him. In the years after Cullen's rise to power, the rest of them had been forced to retreat to the _only_ place he couldn't touch them—Weisshaupt. He had spent nearly a decade getting to know its halls inside and out. Alistair had once told him that the way Kieran felt about Weisshaupt was how _he_ felt about Denerim Palace. Of course, the whole city had burned to the ground almost seven years ago—none of them would ever see it again.

Kieran swung open the door to his chambers and found it pitch black inside. He searched the darkness with his fingertips, looking for a magical glowing orb his mother left on his desk.

Suddenly, the room was full of laughter as dozens of voices shouted, "surprise!"

The room flooded with light as Kieran clutched his chest in shock, "you almost killed me!" he laughed.

Morrigan was in front of him, "Congratulations, Warden Commander," she said in a tone that _could_ have been ironic.

"Thank you, mother," said Kieran, catching his breath, "did you arrange all this?"

"You have your father to thank for that," she said motioning toward Alistair in the corner, "I thought the whole thing was tasteless—celebrating your _departure_ seems counterintuitive."  She smiled.

In truth, Kieran didn't _want_ to leave, but he took his responsibilities seriously.

"I better go thank him," said Kieran.

As he approached Alistair, he felt nervous. While Morrigan's protestations to his relocation were largely tongue-in-cheek, Alistair was legitimately upset about the decision. As First Warden, he _could_ have vetoed it, but Kieran had insisted that he should go where he would be the most useful.

"Hi Dad," he said bashfully, "you didn't have to go to all this trouble…"

Alistair clapped him on the back, "are you crazy? I wasn't going to let this day go unnoticed—it's not every day a 22-year-old kid gets promoted to Warden Commander of a Keep." Although they both knew that Bella _had_ , neither of them said it.

Alistair was brimming with something that looked like pride.

"Well, thanks," said Kieran.

"Are you nervous?" asked Alistair.

"A little…" said Kieran, "I keep changing my speech for tomorrow." He looked around the room, "I guess I don't know how to _leave_ this place."

They smiled at each other with understanding.

"I'm sure you're going to be great," said Alistair finally. "Also, I'm going to think of lots of reasons for you to come back here—meetings, feasts, trainings… you get the idea." He smirked.

Icis walked up beside Alistair and slipped a hand around his waist, "Caronel needs to ask you a question, when you have a second," she whispered into his ear.

Alistair put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head, "Okay, I'll be right back, though…" He winked at Kieran and scurried out into the hallway.

"Congratulations, Kieran," said Icis, beaming.

In the years since the Inquisition fell, Icis had become like a second mother to Kieran. When she and Alistair fell in love and eventually got married, Kieran was their biggest supporter. Even Morrigan loved Icis—a pseudo-miracle.

"Thanks, Icis," he said, hugging her. "I hope that you'll come visit me… if you're not too busy taking care of the recruits here…"

Icis was in charge of magical instruction to all the new recruits. Because mages of every background were flocking to Weisshaupt, she needed to decide what battle roles they could fill and which of them would likely survive the joining. Those that might _not_ stayed on at Weisshaupt to help with healing and defenses.

"Kieran!" called a small voice behind him.

Icis looked around him and smiled at the little girl, "what are you doing here? I thought I sent you to bed…"

"Dad let me out," said Mia.

She meant Alistair, but he had always been "Dad" to her.

Icis rolled her eyes, still smiling, "I'll deal with him later."

"Kieran," asked Mia, pulling on Kieran's sleeve, "are you _really_ leaving tomorrow?" Worry crossed her face.

"I am…" said Kieran, kneeling until they were eye-to-eye, "but I'm going to be back lots… so much you might not even realize I ever left." He hoped he wasn't lying.

" _I'll_ notice," she said seriously. "I'm going to miss you." Her voice was quiet and threatening to break.

Kieran hugged his little sister and whispered into her ear, "I'm going to miss you too—every day…" he backed away from her and curled his mouth into a mischievous smile, "but someone needs to take care of our parents," he tipped his head toward Icis.

Mia laughed, "you're right."

Alistair was back with Caronel in tow. He looked _grey_ —Caronel was never the same after Dorian died. It made Kieran sad and scared at the same time.

"Warden Commander," Caronel saluted at attention.

Kieran laughed and extended his forearm, "Thanks, Caronel… you'll be passing by Amaranthine on your next scouting mission, won't you?"

"Yes," said Caronel, "and I'll be sure to stop in for a game of Wicked Grace on my way, all right?" his eyes sparkled devilishly. The last time they played, Kieran lost his shirt—literally.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Kieran was congratulated so many times he felt like he had done _more_ than be promoted. Especially since it was mostly nepotism that kept him from washing dishes—he laughed to himself.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

In the moments before Alistair opened his eyes he searched the bed with his fingertips. In these moments, he sometimes thought he dreamed the last decade. He occasionally expected to find a broad set of shoulders and patches of chest hair rising and falling next to him. Of course, that hadn't been true for eight years and what he _did_ find was quite a contrast. Icis' small frame rested gently next to him. Still not opening his eyes, he dragged her backwards toward his chest and wrapped a huge arm around her. She sighed and squinted into the sun peeking through the curtains around their bed.

"Is it morning already?" she whispered, pressing her body against Alistair's.

"Unfortunately, yes…"

He kissed the point of her left ear and cupped her breasts absently. It was a habit—a routine—not a bad one, but one that developed gently over time.

For the first two years of the new Inquisition's tyranny, Alistair stayed with Cullen. He _tried_ to see his perspective—to understand his purpose, even if no one else did. The breaking point came when he demanded that Alistair step down from the Ferelden throne and turn over _all_ the free mages in the country. When Alistair wouldn't acquiesce, they were at an impasse that led Alistair to leave in the middle of the night. With Morrigan's help, he escaped and rendezvoused with Icis who was already gathering a rebel army at Weisshaupt. He'd cut Cullen with a small dagger during his escape—that's when they discovered that Grey Wardens could _wound_ him.

By the time Alistair arrived, the order was in chaos. After the former First Warden's defeat in the Feral Fjords, the wardens had scattered. Alistair took it upon himself to reunite them and recruit new wardens for a new generation—he knew they would need them to eventually defeat Cullen. _Defeat_ —the word felt heavy in the back of his throat. He couldn't imagine what he would feel like when— _if_ —he ever saw him again.

"Stop," said Icis, turning to face him.

He smiled, "I'm never going to get used to that…"

Icis put off her own joining as long as she possibly could, but eventually she knew she _needed_ to be a warden to effectively decide which recruits were suited for it. Since then, she could sense Alistair's moods—she always caught him ruminating.

"Hey," she said, "Kieran's going to be _fine_. He's strong and smart and brave—are you sure you're related?" she joked.

"Hilarious…" he rolled onto her and pinned her back to the bed, laughing.

"Ooh," she raised an eyebrow daringly, "going to punish me?"

He laughed. They had found a rhythm—he would admit that. Their children helped. Raising Mia and Kieran at Weisshaupt had proven to be exceedingly fun. They grew up with lots of other children and Alistair could see them as much as he liked. When Kieran was 14, he got into the habit of sitting in the great hall next to Alistair in a miniature chair. It wasn't quite a _throne_ , but he imagined that Bella would have laughed—maybe she _was_ laughing… somewhere.

Icis sighed and reached up to interlace her fingers around Alistair's neck.

"Seriously," she said softly, "are you all right?"

Alistair lowered himself until he couldn't keep her features in focus.

"Yes…" he said, "at least I _will_ be…" he blushed. "You'll save me a seat at the ceremony, right?"

She smiled, "of course."

He kissed her forehead and her nose and eventually found her lips. When they kissed Alistair adored her. He realized now that she was the perfect partner for him. They had been through so much together and her faith in him had never wavered. Although, to this day, he _loved_ Cullen with every fiber of his soul, he wasn't a smart choice. To be with him was to constantly compromise; to be in turmoil… being with Icis was as easy as breathing.

"Love you," she whispered as she wriggled out from under him.

Alistair kissed her again.

"There's a note from Kieran here." She tied her robe around her waist.

"What does it say?" asked Alistair, sitting up.

"Dad," she read, "Please remember to bring those ceremonial cups today. Icis—remind him when he forgets." She laughed.

"Wow…" he planted his feet on the ground next to the bed, " _nobody_ believes in me these days," he laughed.

Icis looked at him reproachfully, "… _I_ do."

She sat across his lap and wound her arms around his neck. Her eyes were glinting with fire. "Stay with me a while," she whispered.

She trailed kisses along the edge of his jaw to his right ear and bit the edge of the lobe. Alistair shivered and closed his eyes. His palm crept between her thighs.

He kissed her more deeply as he intuited what she wanted to do to him. He _nearly_ agreed, but he would be late.

"Icis," he pushed her back until he could see her face clearly. "I have a million things to do before the ceremony."

She scowled.

"But you can show me whatever you're concocting later…" he smirked.

Icis and Alistair both stood. She rested her head against his chest and breathed into him.

"Fine," she said. "I love you. Goodbye." She nodded and left down the hallway, suddenly rushing.

Alistair watched her leave. A twinge of guilt stabbed into his chest anytime she said she loved him. He _tried_ to, but he knew she felt his distance. He didn't deserve her.

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

The joining today was packed with recruits and their families. From her seat in the first row of the great hall she could see mothers weeping in nervous anticipation, children chattering on without truly understanding the gravity of this ceremony, and recruits with worry lines around their mouths. This was a hard day for everyone. The day that Kieran had taken his joining four years ago Icis had been a wreck.

Morrigan was on her left, looking nervously around the hall.

"Everything okay?" asked Icis.

"What?" said Morrigan absently. "Oh… yes, _fine_."

"That wasn't convincing," said Icis.

The years had been kind to both of them—they were very close now.

"Kieran wanted me to keep an eye out for a particular recruit—someone he's _worried_ about," said Morrigan, still scanning the room, "but I don't see her."

"Who is she?" asked Icis, perking up.

"Her name is Da'lell—she was dalish, apparently," answered Morrigan.

Icis' eyes brightened a little. The dire situations of the last decade had brought more and more dalish into the fold. It felt like having a clan again.

"Why is Kieran worried about her?" asked Icis.

"He thinks he loves her," answered Morrigan. When she said the word _love_ there was a hint of annoyance in her tone. She didn't do well with such matters.

"He loves her?!" asked Icis, surprise swelling in her voice.

"Not so loud," said Morrigan dismissively. "I'm sure it's just the separation anxiety getting to him…"

"Morrigan," laughed Icis, "he's _allowed_ to love someone…"

Morrigan scowled, but eventually softened into a sneer. Mia poked up on Icis' right side.

"Who is?" she asked, excitedly.

"Your brother," said Icis.

"Oh…" said Mia, rolling her eyes, "Da'lell?"

Morrigan and Icis looked at each other, surprised. Before they could ask Mia for more information, a trumpeter heralded the First Warden's entrance from his private office off the front of the hall. The whole room stood in unison as Alistair crossed the stage. Icis ran her eyes over his form unintentionally—a shock of red hair, green waistcoat, boyish smile. Although he no longer wore a crown, he still looked _regal_. She shivered as he waved to the crowd and found a seat on the other side of Mia. He kissed Mia's head and his hand found the back of Icis' neck across the the pew.

"Shit," he said suddenly.

Mia scowled at him, "Dad…shhh."

"What?" asked Icis.

"I forgot those cups... Kieran wrote me that note…" he looked around helplessly.

Icis pulled two small goblets from under her seat, "I've got you," she smiled.

Alistair picked up Mia and changed places with her on the bench.

"What would I do without you?" he asked, kissing Icis and laughing. She shivered when they separated—he was still thinking about _earlier_ , she could feel it.

Morrigan shot both of them a reproachful look as a hush fell over the crowd. Kieran entered from the back and approached the central podium, two scrolls under his arm. Icis looked back and forth between Morrigan and Alistair—Kieran couldn't have had more supportive parents if he picked them himself.

 

"Thank you everyone," began Kieran, "We have a grave task ahead of us today—today we join brothers and sisters to our order. This is not a task to be taken lightly—these brave souls have studied and practiced and sacrificed in order to get to this stage, and more may sacrifice still." He looked through the crowd until his eyes met Alistair's. "Let us honor their sacrifice with a moment of silence."

The crowd bowed their heads. Icis could hear Alistair breathing on her right and Mia trying not to wiggle in her seat. A moment later, though, she heard something _else_ —something rhythmic. Alistair must have heard it too because they raised their heads and looked back toward the great stone doors in tandem. They exchanged a look and she felt his worry.

As the noise got louder, murmurs started to drift through the crowd. Kieran looked at the door too.

"Ladies and Gentlemen—" he began, but his voice died in the swell of nervous whispers and panicked shuffling.

The crowd rose from their seats as one and backed up toward the podium, facing the door. The wardens and recruits in the group were readying their spells and swords. Icis started a barrier spell—she didn't know what was out there, but she didn't want to be caught unaware.

A shrill voice rang out a moment later, "Look! Out the window!"

Icis' heart sank—Inquisition banners.

"Alistair," she let his name slip out through gritted teeth so as not to attract attention, "it's _him_."

Alistair nodded, horror masking his features.

"There are chevaliers with them!" called someone else.

"What?" said Icis, trying to catch Morrigan's gaze.

"I'm on it," said Morrigan, motioning to a few other mages in the group. She and at least a dozen others transformed into birds and flew out a window to scout. A moment later she alighted on the purple runner in front of Icis.

"It seems Briala and Gaspard finally gave in—the Chevaliers are with the Inquisition army outside," said Morrigan darkly.

Icis didn't want to cause a panic, but she knew the group needed direction.

"Everyone!" she raised her hands to get their attention as Alistair came to stand next to her. "We need every warden and recruit ready to fight—this is a battle we may not survive, but we are here to protect our _home_ and our _world_!" she shouted.

The crowd rallied, shouting encouragement.

"Get anyone who won't be in the fight into the First Warden's office," she pointed to the small door of the front of the hall.

Alistair nodded his approval and gripped her hand. They worked well together.

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Fifty feet from the stone fortress, he nearly turned back. There was a gnawing pit in his stomach that no amount of ale or lyrium could abate. He pulled a small vial from his pocket and drank the blue liquid. As he swallowed, he felt the prickling, calming sensation of magic course through his body—it wasn't _perfect_ , but it was enough.

He raised his hand to signal a stop.

"Inside, we will be met with considerable resistance—do not concern yourself with most of the wardens. We have a purpose—take down the First Warden and the order crumbles."

The troops hit their chests with their fists in unison.

At the door, his voice rang out, "Alistair!" he yelled. His name felt funny on his tongue, but the lyrium was making him brave. "Surrender and you can spare the others!"

He waited. Nothing happened. He called again.

"First Warden Alistair!" he snarled, "come out!"

Again nothing. Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.

"Onward!!!!!" he called, raising an arm overhead.

His army sprang into action and pressed in toward the door. His own plan was slightly more covert. Once, years ago, Alistair told him the story of sneaking into the First Warden's chambers to find Bella and Valya—he knew the windows were accessible by ledge. Steadying himself, he gripped the stone blocks and pulled himself up.

At the edge of the window sill he peeked into the room. It looked empty. With so much lyrium circulating, he easily pulled himself up and over the ledge. Inside, he surveyed the room. The bed was unmade and two pillows were creased next to each other. He grimaced. On the nightstand, there was a hastily written note in a familiar handwriting.

"Alistair, Keep your chin up—everything will be fine. Love, Icis."

He crumpled the note in his hand and threw it into the roaring fire on his left. He wasn't sure _why_ he was angry—he didn't know how to process these feelings anymore. Just as he was about to leave the room rejoin his troops in the great hall, the door swung open.

"Cullen?" said Alistair.

Cullen turned on his heel to face him—the person who still plagued his dreams.

He raised his sword, "Alistair—surrender and no one else has to die."

Alistair didn't move, but his face fell.

"Cullen, what are you _doing_?" he didn't sound angry—he sounded disappointed.

"I'm finishing what we started, love," said Cullen. His words were chosen to cut and he could see the pain in Alistair's face right away.

"Cullen—" Alistair took two steps closer until the tip of Cullen's blade was touching the green velvet of his coat. "Stop this."

They were at an impasse. Cullen could either follow through on the threat or drop his steel and admit it had been hollow. He felt paralyzed. Alistair must have sensed his indecision, because he took two steps to the right, avoiding Cullen's frozen blade and put his hand over Cullen's on the hilt.

"Please," he said gently. He pushed Cullen's sword arm down and Cullen didn't resist.

Alistair pressed his mouth against Cullen's, desperate and needy. Cullen kissed him like he had never kissed anyone.

"You're taking lyrium again?" asked Alistair when they parted.

Cullen wanted to lie, but he knew Alistair could taste it on his lips.

He closed his eyes for a second, trying to think. As he did so, something _changed_. He suddenly felt hollow and cold. Cullen's sword fell onto the stone with a clang as his shoulders slumped. He opened his eyes, panicked, and looked into Alistair's face—horror etched into its creases.

"What—" he looked down, suddenly aware of the gripping pain in his gut and the blood gushing from the fresh wound. Alistair had stabbed him.

Cullen fell to his knees and Alistair knelt in front of him. He wrapped his arms around Cullen's waist and Cullen let his head rest on Alistair's shoulder.

"Why…?" said Cullen.

Alistair shuddered and pulled his face away so they were eye to eye. Cullen saw a tear roll down his cheek.

"Because I love you," whispered Alistair. "I can't let you go on like this."

Cullen tried to breathe, but his vision was blurring. Alistair held him as he sank down further, his face toward the stone ceiling.

"Alistair," managed Cullen, "I'm so sorry…" Although he was dying, he felt like a veil had been lifted—like he could _see_ for the first time since that ledge.

"Shhh," said Alistair, cradling Cullen in his arms, gently rocking.

Cullen let his eyes close and held onto Alistair's hand as long as he could. In the final moments before his mind stopped, he thought he knew what love was.


	51. Ending Seven: Afterlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen makes a choice that ruins everything. Alistair tries to cope with the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm an atheist... but I had a little come-to-Andraste moment while writing this one... It's probably the saddest of all the endings... but something about it makes my soul ache... a soul I barely believe in...

**Alistair**

Alistair closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. He had inexplicable time to think. He had _decided_ —to _kill_ the only two people he had ever really loved in his whole life and probably himself in the process. At least Kieran would grow up in a world without a Blight.

A scream broke Alistair's reverie. His face turned from sadness to horror as he put together the scene in front of him. Cullen grabbed a concealed dagger from his left hip and drove it up into Bella's side. She staggered forward, bleeding profusely, and fell to her knees, letting Cullen go in the process. Morrigan grabbed her as she fell.

Alistair grasped Cullen around the waist and helped dragged him against his lap.

"What have you _done_?" yelled Alistair over the din.

Cullen looked up at him, dazed.

"You're not a warden—the old god is—you're going to—" Alistair stumbled over the words. Alistair's head was buzzing with fear and shock.

Morrigan was cooing over Bella behind him, rapidly closing her wounds.

"Morrigan," choked Bella. Red blood was coating her bottom lip. "Don't do it, what about Cullen?"

Morrigan's eyes glinted dangerously. "There's _nothing_ I can do for him, he's lost already."

Alistair watched, horrified, as Cullen _changed_ —his entire body shook. Alistair tried to hold onto him, but he was blown back into the rock wall behind him. His vision swam. Before he lost consciousness, he watched the amber of Cullen's eyes change as Bella's had. Alistair screamed into the void of the cave, impotently reaching out for him.

Morrigan was at his side a moment later. He yelled again as she wrapped both arms around him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I'm _so_ sorry…" He dropped his head onto Morrigan's shoulder and realized that _she_ was crying too.

 

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

"And that," whispered Kieran, "is why you have to stay _absolutely_ silent, do you understand?"    

Kieran looked from face to face. Pairs of little eyes looked up at him in horror. Outside, they could hear the darkspawn horde circling—heavy footfalls and gurgling roars.

He felt a small tug on the hem of his coat. It was Mia.

"Kieran…" she whispered, "where's Dad?" she had tears in her eyes.

"Mia," he tried to steady his voice, "He's outside with Mom and Bella—he's going to be _fine_."

She didn't look convinced.

In the years since the Blight began, Kieran had given up worrying about his parents. Not because he _wasn't_ worried, but because the worry was _paralyzing_ and they were in danger seemingly every day. As a Senior Warden, he had his _own_ job to worry about—today it was protecting all the children taking refuge at Weisshaupt.

Outside, he could feel his father and Bella working in tandem to take down a huge group of hurlock grunts trying to storm the front doors. Alistair wasn’t doing particularly well—he was making careless mistakes. Bella was using blood magic again. He shook his head—hadn't she learned that every spell had a price? _Still_ , as the First Warden, it wasn't his place to tell her what to do. _She_ made the rules.

He couldn't tell where Morrigan was, but he assumed she was flying over the battle as a crow or an owl. She spent a lot of her time in animal form these days. Although she'd never admit it, Kieran thought she had been deeply affected by the Blight—they had all lost so much.

Several hours later, the fight was over. Bella came bounding around the corner, staff still raised, blood spattered across her fair cheeks, but _victorious_.

"I trust you handled everything here, Kieran?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes, Ser," he answered formally, a bit of a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth.

"Good," she smiled, "the scouts say the field is completely clear for now. Right on time—you have a big day tomorrow."

Kieran smiled, but he was a little nervous. He knew she felt it from the look she gave him.

"All right, head back to your rooms, everyone. Good job today," he smiled at the children as he ushered them down the hallway. "Mia, make sure everyone gets back to the dorms safe and then head back to Dad's quarters, okay?" he called.

Mia nodded and was off.

Alone in the hallway, Bella put a hand on his shoulder, "I know this is scary, but this is our _duty_ —and you're great at it. You're going to be the second-youngest Warden Commander in history." She winked. _She_ had been the youngest—she never let anyone forget it.

Kieran laughed and brushed a hand through his hair, "I know… it's just hard knowing that I'll be so far away from everyone."

"I understand," said Bella. "Get some sleep, okay?"

They nodded to each other and went their separate ways. Kieran considered his life so far. He had been given so much more responsibility than a young man should have. And he'd seen so much—so much _death_. If he was honest with himself, they didn't seem to be winning this Blight. Every time the Archdemon was spotted, Kieran let himself _hope_ , but each skirmish seemed to be harder than the last. He secretly wondered if this Blight would be the one that ultimately wiped Thedas off the map.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Before Alistair opened his eyes, he searched the bed with his fingertips. In the moments between waking and sleeping, he never knew what he'd find. There was only one thing he wished for—the only thing he'd never have again: _Cullen_.

In the years since the beginning of the Sixth Blight, Alistair had woken up with a variety of people in bed next to him. Most notably, Anora, who society dictated should produce Theirin offspring. For the first three years they tried— _diligently_. When she finally announced that she was pregnant, Alistair knew he wasn't the father, but he smiled and laughed anyway. He would have done _anything_ to be free of that facade. He'd never had a chance to meet his supposed progeny, though—Denerim was burned to the ground in an attack several months later, killing nearly everyone. The land was so blighted, no one would be able to live there for a generation.

This morning, his hand landed across a soft pair of hips and a slender waist.

“Morning,” said Bella. She rolled to face him as he dragged her across the sheets.

He kissed her lazily, without truly feeling her lips or tongue.

She coughed, “Are you still drunk?” She pulled back and licked her lips at the taste of him.

He shrugged. He probably was—what was the point of staying sober anymore? A Blight had been ravaging Thedas for a decade, Kieran was going to be shipped off to a distant keep today, and everyone they loved was dead— _Cullen_ was dead.

Bella raised an eyebrow disapprovingly, but didn't stop kissing him.

He rolled on top of her and settled between her legs. It was passionless, but at least coming made him feel _something_. He thrust into her roughly, letting his weight fall carelessly onto her torso. She breathed in shallow, pinched inhales.

He bit into the skin of her neck a little too hard. She yelped in pain, but her eyes glinted dangerously when he looked at her. Even though they only did this once or twice a year when she was at Weisshaupt, they were _used_ to each other. Bella dragged her nails down his sides and growled in a way he didn't particularly like.

When they were both sated, Alistair peeled himself off of her and rolled onto his back across the bed.

“We have _got_ to stop doing this,” complained Bella to herself. Alistair watched her disinterestedly. She crossed to the dresser and pulled a shirt out. When she tugged it over her head, Alistair stood.

“Not that one,” he said seriously.

“What?” asked Bella. She rolled her eyes and smoothed the white linen tunic.

“I'm not kidding—take that off,” he repeated, warningly.

“Why?” she scoffed.

Alistair’s eyes fell to the floor between them. His head hurt from the hangover and his mind hadn't cleared from the blind rapture of their morning fuck, but he felt the pain of it like it was yesterday. “That's _Cullen's!_ ” he shouted, “... _was_.”

Bella looked at him gently for the first time since she'd banged on his door last night. “I'm sorry,” she quickly pulled the shirt off over her head and folded it back into the drawer.

Alistair stumbled toward his desk and pulled a bottle of Antivan brandy from the bottom drawer. Taking a swig, he slumped to the floor and leaned against the side of his bed.

“I don't know how I'm going to do this today…” he said quietly.

Bella came to sit next to him. She dropped her head onto his shoulder like she'd done a thousand times before. “Kieran's going to be fine, you know…”

“You don't _know_ that,” he argued. “That's what we said when Icis went to Amaranthine…” He took another swig from the bottle, “...two weeks later she was... _gone_ …” He choked on the sentence, interrupting himself. “Well, that's _not_ going to happen to him… I'm going to make _sure_ of it—I'm taking him out there _myself_ ,” said Alistair.

Bella looked up at him and squinted, but she didn't argue. “I've got a lot of things to do before the ceremony today,” she stood.

Alistair grabbed her arm as she tried to walk away from him, “Thanks,” he said.

She leaned over and kissed him once more before turning to leave. She didn't look back.

 

* * *

 

**Bella**

Around the corner, Bella ran into Morrigan.

“Oh dear….” said Morrigan, rolling her eyes.

“I'm not in the mood for a lecture,” said Bella, holding up a palm.

“No lecture here…” said Morrigan, falling into step beside her, “was it good?” she laughed.

They exchanged a knowing expression, “He can barely even _look_ at me.” Bella stopped walking mid-stride, “he acts like _I_ killed him—like I pushed my curse into Cullen on purpose.” She pushed a hand through her hair, which was longer and even more unruly than ever. “Even when we're fucking, I can tell he _hates_ me… _Almost_ as much as I hate myself for doing this to him…”

Morrigan put a hand under Bella's chin and forced her to look up, “You have both lost _almost everything_ to these two blights. No one says you have to pretend to be unscathed.”

Bella straightened her spine. “Come on, we'd better get in there.”

 

Around the corner in the great hall, all the wardens had assembled. Kieran waved to her from the head of the room. He was clumped with the other wardens waiting to receive promotions and commendations. She smiled and went to find a seat next to Caronel.

“ _Hey_ ,” said Caronel skeptically, “where did _you_ come from?”

“Don't say a thing,” she smirked at him sideways.

He raised his hands and laughed, “did you see Dorian on your way in?”

“Not yet,” she answered, “is he back from that scouting mission with Valya?”

“He should be anytime now…” Caronel looked nervously around the hall for signs of his husband. Bella envied them—they'd found a way to stay united even in the midst of all this misery. She used to believe that adversity brought people together—now she knew it was just as likely to tear them apart.

Mia suddenly popped up in the aisle and wiggled to sit on Bella's left, next to Morrigan.  Since Icis’ death, Morrigan had acted as a surrogate. Looking at them together, Bella could see their closeness. It was one of the things that cemented Kieran and Mia’s bond. Thinking about it, Bella realized that Mia had two parents who _weren't_ her parents—like she was adopted. When Cullen first… _died_ … Icis and Alistair decided that they would raise their children together. There was even a brief period where they might have had a chance— _together_ —but Icis' death was the final blow for Alistair. Emotionally, he never recovered.

“...and what is your job today?” asked Morrigan rhetorically.

“To keep Dad from falling asleep…” Mia laughed and winked at Morrigan.

“Where is he anyway?” Morrigan asked Bella.

“I'm sure he's just getting drunk enough to get through this…” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“Lovely…” muttered Morrigan.

 

A moment later, a commotion at the front of the hall caught Bella's eye. Alistair had come in through the front to pass by Kieran. In a rough hug, he'd managed to knock over a table of ceremonial cups—at least they were empty. He eventually made his way to over to sit immediately in front of her. She leaned forward and dropped her chin on his shoulder.

"Nice one," she joked.

He didn't turn his head, but she could see his left dimple deepen. He had a scruffy beard now, but his face was still imbued with boyish charm.

"You look better," she whispered.

"Thanks… you could have stayed for a _bath_ , you know," he pushed the side of his head into her cheek. Bella knew it was a hollow gesture, but she didn't blame him for it.

"Dad?" Mia was suddenly in front of them. Bella backed up instinctively.

"Hi, Sweetie," said Alistair.

Bella watched his demeanor change dramatically when he talked to his children. When he was with Kieran or Mia, he was the Alistair she knew—the kind, gentle, benevolent Alistair whom she'd fallen in love with two decades earlier. These moments were becoming more scarce as time went on. She wondered what would become of him once Kieran was gone.

"I'm supposed to make sure you don't fall asleep…" she laughed.

Alistair turned to look at Morrigan, "I'm pretty sure I know who gave you _that_ assignment," he smirked.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, but she was just barely concealing a smile.

A hush fell over the assembled crowd and Bella knew that was her cue. She strode to the front of the hall and settled behind the podium.

"First Warden," nodded an attendant. He handed her a set of scrolls and bowed low.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

The rest of the day progressed in a haze of feelings he didn't want to feel. When Kieran delivered his going-away speech, Alistair almost cried. Mia had held his hand and squished her little body against his side to try to make him feel better, which actually made him feel like crying even more. As far as he was concerned, Kieran and Mia were the only reason he was still _alive_. He might have gone into the deep roads years ago had it not been for them.

At the gates, Mia and Morrigan were standing with Kieran, ready to say goodbye.

"Ready, Dad?" asked Kieran.

"As ready as I'll ever be," smirked Alistair. "I still can't really believe you're leaving…"

Kieran looked apprehensive. "Neither can I."

Morrigan hugged Kieran and handed him his pack.

Alistair nodded. "Okay…" He paused, looking at Mia and Morrigan, "Keep everything under control until I get back. I'll see you soon, okay?"

Mia hugged him around the waist a little tighter than she usually did. "Love you…" she whispered.

"Love you," he repeated, cupping the back of her head in a gauntlet.

Morrigan didn't hug him, but she gave him a look that was the Morrigan-equivalent.

"Make sure Bella supervises everything with the recruits while I'm gone, and also—"

"Alistair," interrupted Morrigan, "I can _handle_ this. Just go."

 

Two hours later, Kieran and Alistair were finally on flat ground. Alistair was just congratulating himself when he heard it—the flapping of leathery wings. He didn’t need to look, he would know that sound anywhere.

"Kieran!" he screamed, "get to the tree line!"

Kieran ran to cover, his bow already drawn, as Alistair whirled. He raised his shield overhead and turned to face it— _him_.

Staring into the rotting, deteriorating corpse above him, Alistair cried out. He heard his own voice before he realized he was yelling. The scream was guttural—the embodiment of the pain he'd carried for the last decade… every death, every loss, every moment away from Cullen.

"Dad!" yelled Kieran, "get down!"

Alistair turned for a fractional second. "I love you," he mouthed.

Time seemed to slow down as Kieran looked at him, wide-eyed. "No!!!!!" he screamed.

Alistair couldn't stop. He grit his teeth and dropped his shield to grab the end of his sword with both hands. The archdemon circled, scorching the earth with black fire in its wake. Alistair could still hear Kieran protesting in his periphery, but this was where life had always been leading—ever since that day on the ledge when everything changed.

Alistair saw an opening—the archdemon alighted on a rock formation a few yards ahead of him and exposed a sensitive expanse of skin between its neck and front right leg. Screaming wildly, Alistair sprinted forward and plunged his sword into the archdemon. A wave of pain and nausea hit him. His vision went black.

 

* * *

 

"Alistair?" a voice said.

Alistair didn't open his eyes. He clutched his chest with one palm and coughed.

"Alistair!" yelled someone. The voice was so familiar—gentle, _loving_.

The person pulled Alistair up to rest against his chest. He was enveloped in a scent—something familiar: oakmoss, elderflower?

Alistair blinked—it took an _inordinate_ amount of effort. "Cullen?" he croaked.

"Hi," said Cullen. His face was exactly as Alistair remembered it—he hadn't aged a day.

Alistair's eyes were instantly filled with tears. Surging adrenaline let him turn on his knees to face Cullen. "I don't understand," he managed.

"You did it, Al…" said Cullen encouragingly.

"Did what?" Alistair grabbed Cullen's hands and pulled them against his chest. He noticed he wasn't wearing armor—just the white shirt he'd yelled at Bella about earlier. "What is this place?" asked Alistair.

Cullen smirked, "You don't _know_?"

Alistair felt silly and young—Cullen had a way of doing that to him. He wrapped his arms around Cullen's waist and spoke into his ear, "I don't care… I love you."

Cullen smiled, pulling his face back enough to look at Alistair, "I love you too," he smiled. "But we _have_ _to_ care…"

Alistair's brow furrowed. All he knew was that he had Cullen back—after a _decade_ of feeling tortured every day. He didn't care about the consequences or implications; he would _never_ let him go again.

"We don't have much time…" said Cullen, sadly.

Alistair grabbed Cullen's sides harder. "What do you mean?" his voice was high and strained.

"You haven't finished yet…" said Cullen evasively. "You still need to kill it— _me_."

Alistair's face cracked—angry tears spilling onto his cheeks. He breathed like he was sprinting—like there wasn't enough oxygen left to fill his lungs.

"You're so _brave…_ " said Cullen quietly.

"I don't give a shit about brave," yelled Alistair. "I'm never going to do _that_ —I'm done."

Cullen's mouth curved into a sort of smile.

Alistair dropped his head into the space below Cullen's clavicle and sobbed. "I'm not kidding, you _ass_."

Cullen almost laughed.

"You have no idea what it's been like—this whole time…" cried Alistair.

"Tell me about it." Cullen rested a palm against Alistair's cheek and drew his face up until they were eye to eye.

Alistair couldn't collect his thoughts. He just cried and pushed his cheek into Cullen's hand.

"Tell me about Mia—what is she like?" asked Cullen.

Alistair wasn't sure he could manage the words. He blinked a few times and inhaled steadyingly. "She's _amazing_ , Cullen…" he breathed again, "she looks so much like you."

Cullen smiled.

Alistair reached up to run a finger through Cullen's curls. "Her hair is just like this…but her eyes are purple like Icis' were."

Cullen nodded. Alistair wondered if he knew that Icis was dead.

"And she's _so_ clever—she has your reasoning skills, definitely…" he laughed through a sob, "…but she spends a lot of time with Morrigan, so she's becoming rather sarcastic and superior these days."

Alistair pulled Cullen closer to him again, trying to feel his heartbeat. When he couldn't, he asked again, "Where _are_ we?" He was scared of the answer.

"We're at the _end_ ," answered Cullen. "It's just about time…" he looked pointedly at a small table that just materialized on their left. Sitting on its immaculate surface was a small, silver dagger.

Alistair's eyes widened, " _No_."

"Alistair…" argued Cullen.

"No!" yelled Alistair, standing shakily. "I'm not _fucking_ doing that."

Cullen laughed again. Apparently this was all a big joke to him.

Alistair squished his eyes in his palms and wiped his cheeks, "I have had _enough_ ," he said seriously. "You can't expect _more_ from me."

"I'm sorry, Darling," said Cullen. He gripped Alistair's forearms and looked at him deeply, "just this _one_ more thing."

"I _told_ you there was no Maker…" muttered Alistair.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, "What makes you say that?"

"If there were, he would _never_ make me do this…" Alistair laughed hysterically. He was coming apart at the seams. "Or he's just _horrible_ at his job…"

Cullen laughed darkly. He approached the table and picked up the small dagger. "I need you, Alistair…"

"What?" Alistair was incensed. " _You_ need _me_?!! Do you have any idea what I've been through??"

"Unfortunately, I do," said Cullen seriously.

Alistair felt a little embarrassed. He wasn't proud of the person he'd become.

Cullen pushed the dagger's handle into Alistair's palm. It was cold and heavier than he expected.

"Please, Cullen," he begged, "Don't make me do this…"

"I'm sorry, Love," said Cullen. He put his hands on top of Alistair's shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "This has been hell for me too, you know… don't we _both_ deserve our freedom?"

Alistair was losing the battle with tears again. He felt so overwhelmed.

"I know you don't believe…" continued Cullen, "but _I_ do…" he smiled, "…and I think we'll be together again as soon as this is over."

He kissed Alistair hard. The moment stretched. Alistair remembered the _first_ time he'd ever wanted to kiss Cullen—that training yard—his smirk was etched into Alistair's subconscious.

As the knife sank deep into Cullen's side, Alistair felt the life begin to drain out of him. Soon, he was holding him as they sank down together onto their knees. "I love you," they whispered in tandem as everything went black.

 

* * *

 

**Templar Training Yard - Denerim**

**Alistair**

Alistair didn’t think it was possible to be this inept. Years in the Chantry and he  _still_ couldn’t swing a sword to save his life. Everyone had said, “Don’t worry, you’ll improve,” and “Next week (or month or year) you’ll be  _great_.” But on his 17th nameday, he had managed to prove them wrong again.

He had no real plan beyond hiding his face in the crook of his arm. A blush crawled across his cheeks and burned into the fabric of his sleeve. Alistair couldn’t face what he would see when he dropped his arm: amber eyes and effortless blonde curls framing a  _perpetual_ smirk. Cullen’s mouth curled into that pleasant and  _imperious_  shape whenever he won. Charming dimples were quick to follow—the left one always slightly deeper than the right. Cullen’s face told the story of his successes while Alistair’s only highlighted his failures. 

 _“If embarrassment were fatal, I would be dead,”_ he thought ruefully.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder—strong, but surprisingly gentle. Alistair grit his teeth and blinked into the sunlight over Cullen’s shoulder.

“Hey,” said Cullen plainly, “Don’t worry; you’ll get it.” He smiled.

Alistair let his sword fall limply at his side. Its point pierced the sand with a metallic ping. 

“Want to go again?” asked Cullen. 

Alistair raised an eyebrow, waiting for the sarcastic jibe that would surely follow—but none came. Cullen’s face was bright and kind, without a  _hint_  of malice.

There was only _one_ possible outcome here: he would lose— _again_. But looking up into Cullen’s boyish smirk he felt _brave_. Alistair pushed a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and nodded. He filled his chest with air and resumed his fumbling stance.

Cullen’s smirk grew deeper, something familiar sparked behind his eyes. “Okay." He lightly punched Alistair's shoulder—an unexpected gesture of camaraderie.

Alistair nodded and they were off.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still with me at this point, be assured that I saved the three happiest endings for last... I thought we all deserved that after what we've been through at this point. :)


	52. Ending Eight: Addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Cullen survive the events of the ledge, but everything falls apart in the years that follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one starts out dark, but ends up sweeter than I expected it to... sometimes writing is like that... different than I intend it to be. :)

**Alistair**

The weight of this decision crushed across his chest. His eyes flicked back and forth between Cullen and Bella. When he landed on Bella’s, he noticed their centers were beginning to cool—the burning red that had been there a moment ago had melted into a sickly yellow that he recognized from the ending of the Fifth Blight.

That was when he realized that there was no way out. There was no one to swoop down to save them. There was no Maker, no Andraste, and no magic dark or bloody enough to get them out of this predicament. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and drew in a breath to begin his charge toward Bella—the charge that would kill the man he loved and probably himself as well.

That’s when he heard it—the flap of leathery wings. He opened his eyes in horror, but to his surprise, it was not Bella who had transformed—it was Morrigan. Her own version of a dragon—not evil and rotting like an Archdemon, but majestic purple scales that glinted in the low lighting of the cave.

“Morrigan!” screamed Alistair. His voice didn’t rise over the din of her wings, but she turned her gigantic head to look at him for a second before swooping down into Bella. During her dive, Bella hastily finished her transformation, her bones cracking audibly. Black, tattered wings erupted from her spine and her body grew to the point where the lovely elven woman he once knew was gone.

In the haste of her transformation, Bella dropped Cullen—threw him—toward the rock face where Alistair was standing, transfixed.

“Cullen!” he screamed, scrambling to grab him.

Alistair laid Cullen across his lap and ripped his breastplate away to inspect the damage in his side. It was bleeding extensively, but not nearly as much as Alistair feared. Alistair pulled his shirt off over his head and pushed the balled up material into Cullen’s side.

Above them, the screeching was deafening and the room was heating up incredibly fast from all the fire. Morrigan’s dragon sunk its claws into the archdemon’s wing and ripped, leaving it spinning, trying to regain its balance. That was when Alistair realized it was over—the still-transforming-archdemon plunged a huge talon into Morrigan's wing, tearing it in two. Morrigan fell, unbelievably slowly, below the edge of the cliff, out of Alistair’s sight. Suddenly everything was quiet.

Alistair screamed, still clutching Cullen tightly against his chest. The archdemon, now fully formed, soared above their heads and scorched the cliff. Alistair scrambled back, pulling Cullen with him, out of the path of the flames.

"Cullen, she's gone," yelled Alistair, his lungs full of smoke.

The archdemon broke through the ceiling of the cave, stories above their heads and soared.

“We've got to get out of here,” cried Alistair.

Cullen nodded and threw his arm around Alistair’s shoulder for support.

 

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

"And that," said Kieran, "is why we must never forget her sacrifice." He cleared his throat and raised his glass to the audience. "I'm looking forward to seeing all of you at the ceremony tomorrow. Thank you."

On his way out of the dining room, myriad strangers shook his hand and clapped him on the back. It seemed strange. In life, Icis Lavellan was understated. She was reserved and private. Now that she'd become a grey warden and ended the blight, she'd gone down in history with other prominent elves like Bella and Garahel. Somehow, the retelling made her seem like someone she wasn't. Kieran had taken it upon himself to fix that.

"Dad?" he called, catching Alistair by the arm, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Alistair looked distracted, "Uh, yeah…" he stopped mid-stride and looked around the room. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I was hoping I could practice my speech for tomorrow?" asked Kieran.

Alistair squinted, "yes…" he paused, "I just need to find someone… then I'm all yours."

Kieran cocked his head to the side, "Dad…" he put a hand on his shoulder, "you're not looking for _him_ , are you?"

Alistair looked down at his feet and sighed. "I swear I saw him?"

"I'm sure he's not here…" said Kieran ruefully. "Besides, what good could possibly come of that?" asked Kieran.

Alistair shrugged.

In the last decade, everything had changed for Alistair—for _all_ of them, actually. The first major change in Kieran's life was, of course, losing his mother. By the time Cullen and Alistair made it back to the Inn at Laysh, Kieran already expected the worst. He had seen the archdemon in the sky and the land becoming toxic. He had a feeling that if his mother had survived, _none_ of that would have happened, so he was prepared when Alistair told him—as prepared as _any_ little boy could be for his mother's death, he supposed.

Over the next few years, they moved from place to place, never settling anywhere for too long. His _favorite_ home was Denerim, but the entire city was burned to the ground in the second year of the Blight. No one would be able to live there safely for generations. In the months that followed, the Grey Wardens reorganized. Alistair was promoted to First Warden and since his kingdom had fallen apart, he moved their entire family to Weisshaupt. He and Cullen were _happy_ then—an example of what love could be like. Icis lived with them too. Mia was his little sister—that is, until the _accident_.

"It _wasn't_ your fault, Dad…" said Kieran softly.

Alistair looked at him miserably, but pulled him into a hug anyway.

The year they moved to Weisshaupt, Icis became a Grey Warden. She quickly rose through their ranks and, eventually, Alistair gave her command of the Vigil's Keep—a prestigious post that Bella once held. In a hotly debated move, she took Mia _with_ her. Cullen opposed it, but, ultimately, Alistair sided with her. Only… _they never made it_. The archdemon appeared while they were traveling. Mia was killed almost instantly in the attack. Icis, with nothing left to lose, made the ultimate sacrifice.

"I know it must have been horrible to lose a daughter," began Kieran, "but _we_ were his family too…"

Alistair pulled back, but let his hand linger on Kieran's sleeve. "Thanks…"

Kieran wished there was some way to help. Alistair was a wonderful father and person—he'd been a wonderful husband too… The unfairness of it made Kieran's face burn.

"Well…" Kieran straightened, "Don't worry about the speech, I'll get Dorian to listen to it… just get some sleep tonight, okay?" he smiled.

Alistair nodded.

 

* * *

 

Rounding the corner, Kieran contemplated his life. He had experienced so much more than any twenty-two year old had a right to. He'd been born under the most dubious of circumstances, lived through a blight, and now he was being honored as an accomplished historian. It was _humbling_ , especially considering the death toll. He was so lost in thought that he didn't look up until he'd crashed into someone's chest. His mouth was full of feathers from an adorned cape.

"Cullen?" he gaped.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, "Kieran…" he stepped backward, collecting himself. "Sorry—I wasn't watching where I was going…"

Kieran didn't say anything.

"Congratulations, by the way," said Cullen. "I'm looking forward to your speech tomorrow."

"Thanks," said Kieran, attempting to smile. It was strange seeing Cullen again—it had been _years_. He used to call him 'Father.' Alistair was always 'Dad,' but Cullen had been _equally_ as important once. The hardest thing about their separation was that Kieran lost _another_ parent. He hadn't begun to forgive him.

"Well…" said Cullen, shifting his weight uncomfortably, "I'd better head out…"

"I wasn't expecting to see you," blurted Kieran.

"I know… I just wanted…" mumbled Cullen.

Kieran rolled his eyes. The first words out of Cullen's mouth _should_ have been an apology. "Bye, Cullen."

He took off down the hallway and didn't look back.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

_Knock. Knock._

Before he opened his eyes, Alistair searched the bed with his fingertips. In these moments between sleeping and waking, he often wondered if he would encounter Cullen's broad shoulders or a lock of curly blond hair, but he hadn't for the last five years. It had made getting up increasingly hard as time went by. He missed Cullen with every fiber of his being.

Alistair blinked—it wasn't morning. Why was he awake?

_Knock. Knock. Knock-knock._

"I'm coming," called Alistair. He tied a pair of loose pants around his waist and answered the door. He was blinking and groggy.

"Hi," said Cullen.

Alistair's mouth went dry. The adrenaline kicked in and he was suddenly wide awake.

"Can I come in?" asked Cullen.

Alistair opened the door without thinking. He would have let Cullen into any room in any fortress in Thedas, he guessed. Besides, this used to be _their_ room.

Cullen kicked his boots off just inside the door and dropped his coat on a chair. "I had to see you."

Alistair swallowed hard, "why?"

Cullen took two steps forward, but Alistair backed up—his thighs bumped into the edge of the bed and he stumbled backward. He caught himself on his elbows, but Cullen was leaning over him before he could right himself.

"I saw Kieran," said Cullen. His hands found their way to Alistair's sides and he pressed his weight into him. "I know I waited too long—I was foolish and prideful and _hurting_ ," explained Cullen. His leg was wedged between Alistair's thighs, trapping him in place. "…but I should _never_ have blamed you."

Alistair felt the first tear fall before he knew he was crying.

Cullen saw it and wiped it away with his palm. That was when Alistair lost control. He was suddenly furious. He pushed Cullen off—hard. Cullen flew into a shelf, sending books and scrolls flying everywhere. He looked dazed.

"You have been gone for _five_ years," said Alistair with quiet intensity.

Cullen straightened against the bookshelf.

"For _five_ years, I have cried and begged, and pleaded with a deity I don't even _believe_ in to bring you back to me," continued Alistair. He was gritting his teeth painfully. "You _left_ me in the middle of the night—left _our_ son!" He was starting to shout "…and now you just _show up_?"

Cullen shook his head.

"Do you know what it was like to explain to Kieran that he'd lost _another_ parent?" yelled Alistair. He closed the gap between them until he could see the beads of sweat forming across Cullen's brow. "He asked me, 'Dad, why did Cullen leave? Doesn't he love us?' 'Doesn't he love _me_?'" Alistair wiped a shaking hand across his brow. "Do you have any _idea_ what that did to us?"

Cullen rose to his full height and looked at Alistair warily.

Alistair scoffed, "Of course not—how could you?"

"Alistair," said Cullen quietly. "I lost my daughter—I didn't know how to _be_. I screwed everything up… but… I'm _sorry_ …"

"You think I didn't grieve her!?" screamed Alistair. "I still do—every day." He turned back toward the bed and planted his palms on the edge of the mattress. "But I was going to grieve her _with_ you. I was going to help you heal."

Cullen was suddenly right behind him, wrapping his arms around him so gently he might have been touching glass. Alistair whirled. Their faces were only an inch apart—they had been _here_ before.

"Al—" he began again, "please _forgive_ me."

Alistair's breath hitched. He closed the gap in what turned out to be a bruising kiss.  Cullen tasted and smelled exactly like Alistair remembered.

           

* * *

 

An hour later they were a tangled mess of arms and legs diagonally across the bed, panting and sweating, but very much _together_.

"I never thought I'd see you again," said Alistair seriously.

Cullen turned to tuck himself into Alistair's side. "Me neither." A few sweat-soaked curls stuck to his neck and he was breathing hard.

"You must be getting older—I don't remember you being this _winded_ ," joked Alistair.

Cullen laughed as he propped himself up on an elbow. "I wasn't going to bring this up… but you're looking a little _grey_ these days, Red," he ran a few fingers through Alistair's hair.

"Oh stop," Alistair groaned. "…but don't stop— _ever_ …" he craned his neck to kiss Cullen's jaw.

"What do we do now?" asked Cullen seriously. He leaned close enough that their noses brushed.

"I don't know…" Alistair's hand brushed over Cullen's ribs and eventually anchored on one hip. "I have to tell you something…"

Cullen squinted.

"I started to hear it—the _song_ …" he trailed off.

" _No_ ," gasped Cullen.

Alistair nodded. "During the Blight I didn't notice it because we _all_ hear the archdemon during a Blight… but when the Blight ended—I _knew_."

Cullen dropped onto Alistair's chest. His cheek rested against the slightly damp skin. "I'm so sorry…"

Alistair wrapped a hand around the back of Cullen's neck and brushed his fingertips over the soft skin. "I didn't realize _you_ were controlling the Calling now," he joked.

Cullen laughed bitterly. He sighed, his expression suddenly grave. "Now I need to tell _you_ something…"

Alistair hummed.

"While I was _away_ …" his voice was gravelly and low, "I started using lyrium again… black market stuff—very strong."

Alistair picked his head up and squinted.

"…I wanted to come home almost as soon as I'd left… but I couldn't let Kieran see me like that," explained Cullen. "I couldn't let _you_ see me like that—I wasn't safe. I spent the next year living on the streets…"

Alistair gasped. He had sent search parties all over Thedas looking for Cullen at first. Now he knew why they never found him.

"I had to get clean first… _again_ …" mumbled Cullen. His fingers were full of nervous energy against Alistair's skin. "…it took me a long time—longer than before—and it almost _killed_ me… but I'm _okay_ now."

"I love you," said Alistair. The words fell out of him easily—not just habit, but truth.

Cullen tightened his grip around Alistair's ribs, "I love you too."

 

* * *

 

**The Next Morning**

**Cullen**

Cullen turned onto his left side to avoid an intrusive sunbeam. His arm draped across a slowly rising and falling chest. The skin was smooth with soft tufts of hair in all the right places. Peeking from under his eyelids, he took in Alistair's sleeping form.

"There's no need to _stare_ …" said Alistair suddenly. He turned his head, grinning from ear to ear. "Honestly, Cullen, you're so into me it's _embarrassing_ …" he laughed.

Cullen snorted. "I'd rather just be _in_ you."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, "that can be arranged."

As Cullen was taking an oral inventory of every new scar on Alistair's chest and abdomen, the door suddenly swung open.

"Dad?" called Kieran. "I need some help with—" he stopped dead.

Cullen was tempted to keep his head under the covers, but he eventually decided that sent the wrong message and tried to return to a _normal_ sleeping position.

"Oh Maker…" said Kieran, shielding his eyes.

Cullen's face was purple with embarrassment.

Alistair sat up, pulling the covers with him, "Kieran, I'll meet you downstairs… okay? Just give me a few minutes."

Kieran nodded and slammed the door behind him.

"Well," said Alistair, "That went a little differently than I'd hoped."

Cullen buried his face in his hands. "Andraste's ass, what a mess…" he mumbled.

Alistair laughed, "It will be _fine_ —I'll talk to him…"

Cullen's brow knit, "I'm not going to be able to face him downstairs…" he almost smiled.

"He's an adult, you know," smirked Alistair. "I'm sure he knows what people _do_."

"Yeah, but not his fathers!" shouted Cullen. He cut himself off. " _Father_ , I mean…."

Alistair's expression dripped with pity. "Cullen—"

"No _don't_ ," Cullen stood suddenly, trying to find his pants. "I don't deserve any sort of title after what I did…"

Alistair didn't move from the bed. "Cullen—I love you. Please don't leave before we've had a chance to talk about this. I'm rather sure watching you walk out that door would be traumatizing."

Cullen stopped. He sat on the edge of the mattress next to Alistair.

"You need to apologize to him," said Alistair frankly. "…much more than you needed to apologize to me."

Cullen nodded.

"And he'll listen—I _know_ he will," continued Alistair. His tone was encouraging. "Because he's an amazing kid, quite frankly. Much, much, stronger and smarter and _sweeter_ than either of us were at his age."

Cullen smiled. They looked at each other silently for a long minute.

"Now get over here and kiss me before I forget what you taste like," said Alistair.

           

* * *

 

**Alistair**

Downstairs, the great hall was beginning to fill. Alistair wanted to catch Kieran before the ceremony started. In the hallway outside, he grabbed Cullen's hand.

"Are you sure you want to go in like that?" asked Cullen. He looked at their joined hands warily.

Alistair smiled, "absolutely sure."

Two steps into the hall, Dorian intercepted them. "Um… excuse me, your Majesty," he looked surreptitiously around the hall, "can I speak to you and…" he faltered, apparently not sure what to call Cullen… "Can I speak to you privately?"

"We're technically _married_ , you know…" said Alistair. Cullen's grip on his hand tightened, but he followed Dorian to a side room.

"Have you lost your _mind_?" asked Dorian.

Alistair and Cullen looked at each other.

"Caronel is in the back trying to talk Kieran off the proverbial ledge," Dorian explained. "Your little _indiscretion_ ," he cleared his throat, "was not only _visually disturbing_ , but downright confusing for Kieran."

"I need to see him," said Alistair.

"No," said Dorian seriously.

Alistair's eyes narrowed.

"Cullen needs to go talk to him— _alone_ ," said Dorian.

Cullen nervously rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. Alistair held the other hand tighter than before. He wasn't sure if he _could_ let it go—he had spent the last five years thinking he'd lost Cullen… he never wanted to let go again.

"Okay," said Cullen, straightening. "Bring me back there, Dorian."

Dorian looked grave, but he ushered him out of the room anyway.

 

* * *

 

Alistair paced outside the chamber door. He couldn't make out any of the words, despite their proximity. Every few sentences he'd hear someone's timbre elevate, but nothing substantial. He hoped Kieran wasn't too angry at him.

Dorian stepped outside the door and closed it behind him.

Alistair looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Give them a minute," said Dorian, wiping a palm across his face.

Alistair bit his bottom lip. "I know it's _mad_ , Dorian, but I just want us to be a family again…"

Dorian rolled his eyes, "Alistair, it's been less than twelve hours—how can you be thinking like that already?"

Alistair shrugged. "I just love them _both_ so much."

"Maker, Alistair…" Dorian put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "You sure know how to make everything complicated." He smirked.

Alistair blushed.

The door suddenly opened—Kieran came out looking flushed. Alistair held his breath in nervous anticipation.

"Dad, I need to talk to you," said Kieran. He pulled Alistair by the elbow down the hallway until they were far enough away to not be overheard. "Are you _okay_ with this?"

Alistair smiled, despite himself. Kieran was an amazing boy—on one of the most important days of his life, he was worrying about whether or not Alistair was _okay_.

"I know it's not going to change anything that happened over the last five years…" equivocated Alistair, "but I _love_ him… and I understand what he went through…"

Kieran sighed, "I _know_ … he told me about the lyrium…" He grabbed a thick handful of his hair and pulled it backward. "I _just_ —it's going to take me a while to get over this…"

Alistair put a hand on his shoulder. "I would never expect you to 'get over it'… but maybe you could try just not _hating_ him… for me?"

Kieran nodded. Alistair saw the telltale signs of a suppressed smile.

Alistair pulled Kieran against his chest and squished him. "I love you, you know…"

"I love you too, Dad," said Kieran. His voice was muffled by Alistair's coat. "There's just one thing…"

"What?" asked Alistair, letting Kieran go.

"What if he leaves again?" asked Kieran seriously.

Alistair sucked in a breath, but before he started speaking, Cullen was next to him.

"I would never," said Cullen. "I know my word doesn't mean much to you now… but let me show you…"

Alistair felt Cullen's fingers work their way into his palm between them. Looking back and forth between Cullen and Kieran he realized he had his family back—he couldn't be sure for how long; he couldn't know what would happen next, but he _knew_ he loved them and he knew they were all he needed.


	53. Ending Nine: Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair has decided--to kill the only people he's ever loved--when something unexpected happens, rendering his choice invalid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, there were 10 endings... the one that was supposed to be number 9 got a little messy and I ended up shelving it. If I ever fix it, it might get posted... but for now I've updated the length of this piece to reflect that this is the last chapter. 
> 
> Whether you've been here since the beginning or you're just stumbling into this story, I want to thank you for being a part of it. This has been such a fun experience for me and I've enjoyed getting to share my thoughts with all of you. If you would like to chat about the story, you can find me on tumblr, twitter, skype chat, snapchat, and instagram... all @ponticle. 
> 
> THANK YOU!!

**Alistair**

Alistair's chest hurt under the weight of this decision. He tried to steady his breathing and keep his eyes in focus. He was beginning to panic; he could feel his pulse in his throat. He didn't have time to think, he needed to _act_. He closed his eyes for a second, considering. Just as he had accepted the fact that he would likely kill the only two people he had ever loved in his life, he heard an explosion behind him and debris hit the back of his head. He whirled.

"Stand back!" screamed Icis.

Her eyes were on fire, radiating violet heat. Dorian was at her flank.

"Icis?!" he yelled—more of a question than anything else.

Bella hissed in front of them and tightened the blade at Cullen's neck. Cullen let out a high pitched whimper that made Alistair hurt.

"What are you doing here?" screamed Alistair over the din.

"Rescuing you," said Icis—her voice was low and cold.

Icis pulled a small dagger from her cloak. Alistair saw it glint in the orange light of the cave. She took a deep breath and slid it across her wrist, blood poured onto the cave floor. She closed her eyes and started muttering something.

"Icis!" he yelled, taking two steps closer, "don't!"

Dorian put an arm out to stop him.

"Why would you let her do this?!" yelled Alistair.

Dorian just shook his head.

Behind him, something _changed_. He turned to see Bella shaking. Frothy spit was forming at the corners of her mouth, her eyes rolled backward in her head. Alistair took two desperate steps forward as she convulsed violently—she dropped the dagger at Cullen's throat and he collapsed onto the stone. Alistair grabbed him under the his arms and dragged him a few feet away from the ledge. He looked horrified, but he was _alive_.

"Shhh," he cooed, brushing the hair off of Cullen's brow. His lips quivered across the sweat-soaked skin of Cullen's forehead.

Alistair was terrified, but protecting Cullen kept him fixed in place—right in the middle of everything. Morrigan joined them a moment later, already closing Cullen's wounds. Bella had dropped onto all fours now, her hair haphazardly flying everywhere as her body shook and writhed.

Meanwhile, Dorian was supporting Icis' weight—her face was pale and there was a sizable amount of blood pooling at her feet. Alistair looked at Morrigan and she understood his meaning without him having to ask.

"I've got this," she said, changing places with Alistair.

Alistair ran to Icis' other side and put an arm around her. He felt nearly the entire weight of her body as she used him for support. Dorian and Alistair looked at each other warily.

Suddenly, Bella's face snapped up—her eyes were brown, not red and haunting as they had been a moment ago. She locked eyes with Icis for an unnaturally long moment before they simultaneously collapsed.

Everything went silent.

"Icis?" Alistair put a hand on her cheek to raise her head, but her eyes didn't open. "Dorian, what is this?"

Dorian gently guided Icis to the ground and closed the wound on her wrist.

Alistair ran to the edge of the cliff and turned Bella over. She was definitely alive—her chest was rising and falling, the color was returning to her face.

"Bella?" he called. Slowly, she opened her eyes and coughed something that looked like _oil_ out of her mouth. A line of it trickled down her jaw and neck before evaporating into thin air.

She gasped, recognition dawning, "what?" She looked around, "Alistair!" she yelled.

"Bella?" Alistair crouched next to her.

"Alistair!" she hugged onto him, "Icis did it! She saved all of us!" she was yelling excitedly, but she suddenly paused "She used _blood magic_ …" Her voice was heavy with realization.

Even as Alistair turned to face Icis, he braced for what he would see. Icis was lying, shivering, against Dorian's lap. Blood was pooling between her thighs.

"Dorian," called Alistair, approaching the mage on his left side, "…the baby?"

Dorian shook his head.

Bella approached them, "Damn it, Icis—there's always a price!" she nearly yelled. Then, softening at Icis' side, "She pulled me into the fade—I don't know _how_ she knew to do it, but it was the only way to separate me from the old god." Bella kneeled next to Icis and touched her face in a way that seemed oddly intimate, "She sacrificed _her_ for this…"

Alistair's breath hitched— _her_ —the baby had been a girl.

Morrigan helped Cullen join the rest of them around Icis. Alistair took his hand and squeezed.

"Mia," said Alistair quietly "—she was called _Mia_."

 

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

"And that," Kieran looked from Fiona to Dorian and back again, "is why I think this might be a mistake."

"This is supposed to be a happy day," said Fiona, running a hand over her brow, "my grandson is in love and getting married…" she smiled at Kieran and put a hand on his shoulder, "…and all _we_ can think about is what will happen with the guests…"

Kieran blushed. Despite the intricacies of the guest list, he was excited—and a little nervous.

"Dorian," said Kieran, pleadingly, "will you please just _try_ to keep Icis and Cullen from killing each other?"

Their whole family structure had become so dysfunctional. When everyone returned from that fateful trip, Bella and Icis were somehow joined—emotionally, intellectually, _magically_. Kieran never got the details—he never _wanted_ them, actually—but Bella and Icis never left each other again, not for a moment. Their love story became a legend of dalish and city-elf cooperation. They traveled through the countryside uniting clans and bringing down alienages. Icis named Bella the new Commander of her troops and they had been together ever since.

Meanwhile, Cullen and Alistair returned to Denerim with Kieran and Morrigan in tow. The only hard thing was that Cullen _should_ have had a daughter—he felt the loss as if he had held her in his arms already. To know that blood magic had killed her was even more despicable to him—the thing he hated most in the world seemed to ruin his life over and over.

Despite this—or maybe because of it—they all grew into wonderful parents, in different ways. Morrigan was the disciplinarian, Cullen was Kieran's main source of encouragement, and Alistair made it his mission to keep everyone happy and _together_.

After a while, Alistair named Cullen the Military Commander of Ferelden—a title that Bella once held. The irony of their role reversal _wasn't_ lost on anyone.

When Kieran became an adult and decided to study ancient elven magic, Morrigan encouraged him to reach out to Bella and Icis, despite what Cullen thought. Kieran felt guilty when he rediscovered how much he _liked_ both of them. On the first of his research trips to a dalish clan, the Keeper nearly sent him away, but Icis smoothed things over for him. Without Icis, he never would have met Da'lell—she made it _possible_ for him to fall in love. She _had_ to be at the wedding.

 

"Well," said Dorian, "they're going to be here any minute… we can't exactly cancel."

Kieran bit the inside of his lip, "Will you go meet their carriage?"

Dorian nodded and headed to Denerim's city gate.

"Fiona," said Kieran, once they were alone, "Do you think this is crazy? Should I really be trying to get everyone in one place? Maybe we should have eloped…" he sighed.

Fiona laughed, "this is _fine_ , Kieran.. if there is one thing all these people have in common, it's that they love _you_."

She hugged him.

"Now," she said into his shoulder, "go find Da'lell and take your mind off of this—I'll handle it."

Kieran hugged her and bounded down the hallway to his chambers.

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

"Cullen," he said reproachfully, "it's just 24 hours…" This fight had been going on for far too long and he was exhausted.

"I know _that_ ," said Cullen coldly. He wasn't one to admit when she was hurting. His anguish usually manifested as irritation. Alistair was so used to his moods that he felt each of his emotions as his own—it was _almost_ like being with another Grey Warden.

"I'm mad at them too, you know—no one expects you to get over this…" he offered. "At least you haven't had sex with _both_ of them…" he muttered, an inadequate attempt at humor.

Cullen looked up, a tiny sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not _mad_ ," said Cullen, seriously.

"Then what _are_ you?" asked Alistair, sitting on the bed next to him.

"I’m disappointed," he said dejectedly. He rested his chin on Alistair's shoulder and kissed the skin at the base of his neck.

"Cullen," he said suddenly, "why have you never had any children?"

He picked up his head, sarcasm pulling on his lips, "Why haven't _you_?" he laughed, "it's the easiest thing in the world, after all."

Alistair smirked, "You know what I mean…" He rumpled Cullen's hair. "We could adopt… Dorian and Caronel have the twins… it _happens_."

"I don't know," said Cullen, staring into the fire. "I guess it just always seemed _insensitive_ —to her memory…" he sighed, "I know it's ridiculous, we never even met her… she was more of an idea, than anything."

"It's not ridiculous," said Alistair, catching Cullen's chin in his hand. "I _understand_ —but I think that her sacrifice could be _honored_ instead of resented. She is, after all, the reason we're here together. She _gave_ us the last decade."

Cullen looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't say anything. Alistair pushed him backward onto the bed and put his head in the space between Cullen's arm and chest.

"I love you, you know," said Alistair. "Just get through this for Kieran, okay?"

Cullen kissed Alistair's forehead, "okay…" he hugged Alistair and sighed, "All right, go see our boy—wish him luck… or whatever fathers are supposed to do before their sons' weddings."

Alistair laughed and hovered over Cullen for a moment before standing.

"You'll be here when I get back?" he asked at the door.

Cullen nodded.

 

* * *

 

Around the corner, Alistair approached Kieran's bedroom door. He could hear Da'lell's lilting voice through the wood. She was lovely. He knocked.

"Hi, Dad," said Kieran on the other side. "We're just going over some of the elven stuff for tomorrow…"

"Ahh," said Alistair, stepping into the room.

"He's still _struggling_ with a few of the words…" said Da'lell, blushing. "You'll get it, though, darling," she smiled at Kieran.

"Is there anything you need, Kieran?" asked Alistair.

"I don't think so…" said Kieran, "Mom was just here—she gave me quite the pep talk… I think I’m all set in that department…" he laughed.

Alistair blushed—Morrigan beat him to the punch again.

"All right then…" said Alistair. He shifted uncomfortably. "Just know that I'm so… proud… of both of you, actually."

A tear threatened in his eye. "Love you, Kieran." He pulled him into a rough hug. "All right, I've got to get to bed… see you both in the morning!" he called.

 

**Bella**

In the moments before Bella opened her eyes she searched the bed with her fingertips and found a small, lean, muscular shape next to her. She did this every morning. Until she found that tiny waist and soft golden skin she often thought she _dreamed_ the last decade. She pulled her body in close behind Icis'.

"Good morning," she cooed into Icis' ear.

"Is it?" asked Icis, turning over to face her. "Couldn't it be good _night_ again? I’m so exhausted from all that traveling."

Bella traced the outline of Icis' jaw with her index finger.

Icis opened her eyes wide. In all these years, Bella never got used to her eyes—they were mesmerizing.

"I love you, you know," said Bella, worry fluttering through her gut.

Icis' eyes narrowed, "I love _you_ … what's the matter?"

"It's just _strange_ —being back here," said Bella. She wound a hand around Icis' back and pulled her closer until their legs intertwined.

"For me too," said Icis, seriously. "I have to admit, I'm going to feel guilty when I see them—Cullen, especially."

" _Don't_ ," said Bella seriously, "you did what you had to do—it was a tough decision, but one that saved a lot of lives." Bella searched Icis' face, "don't ever let anyone tell you that the ends don't justify the means—that's just something the cowardly say to make themselves feel better."

Icis managed a weak smile and leaned in to kiss Bella. Her morning kisses were desperate and wild. When they kissed, Bella _felt_ Icis—her soul, her essence, her heart. Bella often wondered if the blood magic was what created this spark or just what _illuminated_ it—she hoped the latter.

"I have to get going," said Icis suddenly. "I'm supposed to usher all the Dalish guests to their seats."

"Okay," said Bella. She didn't let go of Icis' waist, though. "If you're _really_ ready," she looked at Icis suggestively as she kneaded the skin of her inner thigh.

Icis laughed, "as tempting as that is…" she wriggled herself away from Bella and crossed the room to find her clothes.

Bella had never slept in this room of Denerim Palace before. It was strange, though, because these were technically _her_ quarters—when she lived in Denerim she always stayed with Alistair. There was one thing of hers here, though… a magical mirror that Morrigan gave her for her nameday in 9:34 Dragon. She felt a surge of electricity when she saw it. When Morrigan first left Bella to live in Denerim with Alistair she thought Morrigan was angry. But when Morrigan and Kieran joined them two years ago, all seemed to be forgiven. Being with Morrigan again was like reconnecting with another piece of herself.

"Okay, I'll see you later, then," said Bella, crossing to Icis. She wanted to kiss her one more time. Icis was eating elderberries and Bella tasted their sourness on her tongue.

"Tingly?" asked Icis when she backed away, her lips slightly parted.

"A little," said Bella—she had a mild allergy that Icis exploited when it seemed appropriate. They both smiled.

"I'll see you down there," said Icis, tying a sash around her waist. "Love you."

Bella held onto her fingertips until her arm was fully extended, "Love you too."

 

* * *

 

**Icis**

From her vantage point at the front of the hall, Icis could see that _everyone_ who was _anyone_ was in attendance. This wedding was the affair of the age. She suspected that most people just wanted to see the prince of Ferelden 'throw his life away' by marrying an elf. She overheard some gossips saying that the kingdom was _ruined_ now.

As she surveyed the room, a shock of red hair caught her eye. Alistair entered, largely unnoticed, wearing a green waistcoat, his gold crown slightly askew. When he caught her looking, he waved to her.

"Lady Inquisitor," he said, bowing low.

She blushed, "How are you, King Alistair?" she smiled and curtsied.

They both laughed at the absurdity of this repetition.

"Fine, thank you," said Alistair, "you're doing a lovely job getting everyone organized… with all these nobles I thought there would be a war breaking out already," he whispered through his smirk.

Icis felt suddenly nervous, "how is Cullen?" she said quietly, trying to keep her face neutral.

"He's good," said Alistair. " _Really_ good, actually… He's working on a project to help former templars get off of lyrium." He pushed a hand through his hair, "It's hard work, but he loves it."

"That's great," said Icis. She really meant it too. She wanted Cullen and Alistair to be _happy_. They certainly deserved a fraction of the love and laughter and light that she felt every day.

"So," said Alistair, smiling, "where do I sit?"

She laughed, "You, _your majesty_ , sit in the first row on the left, next to your _military commander_ ," she coughed for emphasis, "and Morrigan…"

He feigned looking lost.

"Let me show you to your seat," she smiled and offered him her arm. When they touched, she remembered how tiny she felt next to him. So much had changed since they met. She was so relieved that they were speaking. She hoped Cullen would be as forgiving.

At the first row, Icis gestured toward Alistair's seat on the end. Cullen came up behind her.

"Inquisitor Lavellan," he bowed his head slightly.

She turned to face him, "Commander."

"Won't you join us?" he asked when he sat next to Alistair.

She blushed, "I'd love to, let me find Bella and we'll be right over."

 

* * *

 

**Cullen**

When she was out of earshot, Cullen leaned to whisper in Alistair's ear, "How am I doing?"

"Beautifully," said Alistair. He squeezed Cullen's hand in his lap.

Morrigan shot them both a look from Cullen's left.

"What are you boys doing?" she asked suspiciously.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" asked Alistair, laughing.

Cullen elbowed him in the ribs.

A moment later, Icis returned with Bella in tow. It was strange to see them together, but somehow perfect. Thinking about how different these pairs used to be was unsettling, so Cullen tried not to ruminate.  Bella and Morrigan were whispering about something and Icis was left sitting next to Cullen. He tried not to touch her, but the pew was overfull.

"So," said Icis, "is Kieran nervous?"

Cullen smiled, "Yes—definitely," he laughed, "but Da'lell is amazing—he's going to be so happy."

Icis smiled and fiddled with the hem of her coat anxiously.

Cullen felt suddenly brave.

"Icis," said Cullen, turning to face her. "Thank you. You saved all of us."

Icis blinked.

"Please don’t stay away so long this time," he said quietly enough that it sounded like a secret, "everyone needs you and Bella here."

Icis felt tears threatening in her eyes. She nodded and tried to smile.

Behind Cullen, a trumpeter heralded the couple's entrance. Kieran looked like the picture of a king—purple waist coat, silver crown, and slightly wild, boyish red-brown hair. Cullen put an arm around Alistair and squeezed his shoulder. Alistair turned to look into his eyes with wistful pride.

"I love you," he mouthed.

"Love you," whispered Cullen into his ear.

 "Ladies and Gentlemen," said the officiant, "we are here today to join these two people…"


	54. Ending Ten: Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised you guys 10 endings... and no one called me out on only publishing 9... which was sweet. But this week I've been cleaning things up--editing and finishing things... and I decided that this was the ending you deserved. 
> 
> This one might be my new favorite. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing so much Anders/Alistair these days I felt like I needed to revisit my Cullen/Alistair roots... in a scenario where Cullen isn't dying or shot... where he's not a horrible person. Enjoy the fluff.

**Alistair**

Alistair's chest hurt under the weight of this decision. He tried to steady his breathing and keep his eyes in focus. He was beginning to panic; he could feel his pulse in his throat. He didn't have time to think, he needed to _act_. He closed his eyes for a second, considering.

Just as he had accepted the fact that he would likely kill the only two people he had ever loved in his life, he felt a warm palm on his shoulder.

"Stop this at once," said Morrigan. Her exterior was icy calm.

Alistair gaped at her.

"Bella!" yelled Morrigan. Her voice was high and clear—Alistair had never heard it sound like that. "We agree to your terms."

Alistair's eyes widened. He looked at Cullen. Despite his growing pallor, he managed to look _furious_.

Bella-the-Archdemon cackled, "I wouldn't have guessed _you'd_ be the one to break… how _interesting_." She dropped Cullen onto the hard stone as wings erupted from her spine. Her skin turned scaly and her bones cracked audibly as she finished the hasty transformation.

Alistair grabbed Cullen and drew him back behind a rock formation. Morrigan was close behind. When Bella finally punched a hole in the ceiling of the cave hundreds of feet above them, a deafening silence fell.

"How could you _do_ that, Morrigan!?" coughed Cullen.

Alistair could understand why Cullen felt betrayed, but he also felt something _else_ —thankfulness, _unrelenting gratitude_.

Morrigan looked detached. "This only means we live to fight another day…" she took several steps closer to the edge and looked up, "I'm going to _save_ you, Bella."

Alistair walked behind her and grabbed her hand. If she wanted to help Bella, he would help _her_.

* * *

 

**10 Years Later**

**Kieran**

"And that," Kieran banged his fist against the desk, "is why this is such a huge waste of time..." He exhaled audibly and buried his face in his hands.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, "Come, Dear," she said reproachfully, "if this were _easy_ , we would have sorted it out already… Just give it one more go."

Kieran steadied himself and focused on the dead flower in front of him. He pulled mana from the fade and wrapped it around the flower's stalk. The flower rose a foot above the table and spun. This was the closest he'd come to _actually_ performing this spell. His pulse quickened. Morrigan leaned in—her expression was hopeful. Kieran closed his eyes and tried to separate the Blight from the flower itself.

Since his magic manifested when he was 12, he had been excellent at using _intention_ to make things happen. Morrigan had cultivated his natural skill until he was quite proficient. This _particular_ magic, however, was proving difficult.

Suddenly, Icis blew in through the tent flaps behind him. "Hey, Morrigan, can I talk to you?"

Kieran dropped the flower—his concentration broken.

"…sorry," mumbled Icis over his shoulder. "I didn't realize you were practicing…"

Kieran pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's okay… I wasn't going to be able to do it anyway…"

Icis put a hand on his shoulder, "don't say that, Kieran… you're doing really well…"

"Thanks, Icis…" he didn't believe her, though. The last ten years had been spent trying to get a group together who could perform this special kind of magic. Morrigan had worked tirelessly to vet potential mages. It was hard because only certain mages seemed to have the aptitude. The most promising recruit of all was his little sister—at ten, she was the most gifted mage he'd ever seen. _She_ had been able to separate the flower from its Blight when she was _eight_.

"I really think you'd be better off without me," said Kieran.

Icis wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head, "hush… you're going to be a big help… besides, Mia would be scared without you…"

He smiled. Having a little sister was the best thing about his childhood. The fact that they got to grow up together made all the difference. Spending his formative years in a Blight could have been miserable, but instead it was full of love and light and laughter.

His parents helped too. Alistair and Morrigan had been the most wonderful parents he could have imagined. They were significantly bolstered by Cullen and Icis, who acted as their seconds. Kieran and Mia had no shortage of love.

The only person who _wasn't_ there was Bella—and that was something they intended to remedy. Since the moment Morrigan returned from the Feral Fjords, she had been developing a plan to rescue her best friend. Alistair and Cullen helped, although Kieran always thought Cullen resented it.

"Why don’t you get some rest, Kieran?" asked Morrigan. "We can work more tomorrow…"

Kieran nodded and peeled himself out of his chair. His joints were stiff from sitting for so long. Icis smiled at him as he left. Before he closed the tent flap, he saw Icis wrap her arm around Morrigan's waist.

 

Outside, the sun had already set. The sky was dotted with stars above a bright band of indigo. Kieran was ready to crawl into his tent when he heard someone call his name.

"Kieran?" called Alistair.

"Hey Dad," he let his shoulders slump under the weight of his exhaustion. "Everything okay?"

Alistair smiled. His face cracked around his eyes and mouth, betraying the passage of time, but he looked _good_ —tired, but happy.

"Want to get a drink with me?" said Alistair.

Kieran was exhausted, but he nodded anyway. Their encampment was just outside a small town somewhere in the Anderfels. The local tavern had become a second home.

"So…" said Alistair between gulps, "how's it going in there?"

Kieran laughed. Even after all this time magic was foreign to Alistair. "It's going okay… Mia's still the absolute best thing we have…"

"Well, she _does_ have amazing parents…" said Alistair. "…her father alone…" his eyes glinted at the joke.

"Dad, you're _embarrassingly_ into him…" said Kieran. He didn’t mean it, though. He would have given anything to be _that_ in love with someone.

"Yeah, well…" Alistair laughed, "I have to make up for lost time with intensity."

They both smiled. It was funny to be related to Alistair—he was more like a _friend_ than a dad, but Kieran loved him just the same.

"All right, Dad," said Kieran, an hour later, "I need to turn in… Mother is going to make me do something _crazy_ tomorrow… I need to get some sleep."

Alistair looked nervous.

Kieran put a hand on his shoulder, "Not _that_ crazy… I'll be okay."

"Love you…" whispered Alistair.

"Love you too, Dad," said Kieran.

* * *

 

**The Next Morning**

**Alistair**

In the moments before Alistair opened his eyes, he liked to trace the outline of Cullen's body next to him. It was a habit from their days on Isabela's ship—exploring each other in that tiny cabin. That felt like a lifetime ago.

"I love you," mumbled Cullen. His voice was muffled by his pillow and too-long curls.

"No," said Alistair, still not opening his eyes, "Don't speak yet… just _be_." He swung a thigh over Cullen's hip and ground into him suggestively. He was only half-hard, but it sent the correct message.

Cullen wound his arm around Alistair's back and pulled himself closer until they were face to face—noses touching, lips brushing. His curls tickled Alistair's cheeks.

Cullen slid a hand between them and half-heartedly stroked Alistair's length.

Alistair hummed and sucked Cullen's bottom lip into his mouth. "I love you too," he said quietly.

"Oh, _now_ it's okay to talk?" laughed Cullen.

Alistair opened his eyes and saw Cullen's usual smirk. "You _know_ I need a tug or two to get going in the morning…" he joked.

Cullen laughed, "You’re so _crass_ today… you'd never know you grew up in a chantry."

Alistair smiled and rolled over him. The telltale signs of anxiety were making creases in Cullen's face.

Alistair hovered on one elbow, "What's the matter, Love?"

Cullen rolled his eyes, "you don't have to actively observe _every_ one of my emotions, you know… just because you have the capability…we really have been together _too_ long…" He almost laughed.

Alistair softened, suddenly sincere. He let his chest fall onto Cullen's and rested his cheek against the smooth skin. "What is it… seriously?"

"I'm just _concerned_ ," said Cullen, drawing absent circles across the surface of Alistair's skin. "I think this is dangerous—I've _always_ objected."

"Morrigan saved you…" said Alistair. It was obvious, but he thought it bore repeating. They owed _everything_ to Morrigan—he would have followed her to the ends of the earth out of gratitude.

"I know," said Cullen irritatedly. His fingers gripped Alistair's sides now, a bit too hard. "I just want to make sure we're ready. It doesn't seem like all the mages are really proficient at these spells yet…"

"I know what you mean…" said Alistair, "but Kieran is amazing… he's going to sort this out."

"I know he is…" Cullen smiled. "He's _your_ son, after all."

Alistair beamed.

"…and Mia…" said Alistair quietly, "…well, she's just incredible, isn't she?" Alistair felt Cullen stiffen reflexively. "Sweetheart… she's going to be _fine_ …"

"You don't know that…" said Cullen. He gripped Alistair a little tighter and sighed. "But I'm going to _try_ to believe you…"

Alistair looked up, suddenly brave and boyish, "when have I ever lied to you?"

Cullen laughed. "Get over here…" He pulled their threadbare blankets up over their heads and crushed Alistair against the lumpy mat. It was a rough existence, but Alistair thanked the maker for it every day. He had Cullen. He had Kieran. He had Icis and Morrigan and Mia. What else did he need?

* * *

 

**Icis**

Before everyone else got up, Icis walked the perimeter of their camp. It wasn't strategic; it was a ritual. She'd developed it over a decade earlier when she lived at Skyhold. She used to walk the battlements.

Today, she had just a poorly delineated dirt path, but she plodded along with the same determined reverence she used back then. The last decade had been simultaneously harsh and kind. Harsh because everything they loved was gone—Denerim was burned to the ground in the first year of the Blight. The ground there was so toxic no one would be able to resettle it for generations. Skyhold fell more recently. Until three years ago, it had been their home. Today, the entire southern portion of Thedas was little more than a pile of rubble. She had her _people_ , though: her daughter, Morrigan, Kieran, Alistair and Cullen. They were a complicated, dysfunctional family, but a family nevertheless.

"Where are you heading?" called Dorian. He'd fallen into step next to her before she'd noticed him approaching.

"Nowhere," she replied. It was true—the walking was aimless.

"Then maybe we'll go there together," he laughed.

"How's Caronel?" she asked quietly. She felt the tension between them grow, but she wanted to know. She heard him thrashing in their tent last night.

"He's okay… holding on…" mumbled Dorian. "His calling came more quickly than any of us expected… he's so _young_ …"

Icis looked up at Dorian through her eyelashes. He looked _tired_. "If there's anything I can do…"

Dorian managed a smile, "Thanks…"

They walked together in silence for the next twenty steps.

"…the most important thing _any_ of us can do is reverse this Blight…" said Dorian.

Icis sucked in a breath through pursed lips. He was _right_ , of course. It was what they had been training for… what they had traveled all the way to the Anderfels for. The Archdemon—Bella—was here… and she was more vulnerable than she had been in years. Today was the day they were going to _cure_ her.

"It sounds _insane_ , doesn't it?" asked Icis suddenly.

"You're telling me," laughed Dorian. "It flies in the face of all the history books I’ve ever read.”

The plan was to focus all their magical abilities together to separate Bella from the old god’s soul. It was a tall order, but they’d been practicing since Morrigan developed the spell several years ago. The harder, and more important, part, though, was something Mia would have to do alone—she was going to trap the old god’s soul in an inanimate object at the exact second they cut it loose from Bella. It was a lot of pressure for a little girl, but there was something special about her.

“Is Mia ready?” asked Dorian.

Icis smiled—it was like he read her mind. “Yes. She was _born_ ready… she’s the bravest little girl I’ve ever met… and I’m not just saying that because I'm a biased mother.”

Dorian laughed. “Where is she?”

“I’m over here,” called Mia. She was sitting almost directly above their heads in a low-hanging branch of a huge tree.

Icis looked up and smiled at her. “How did you get up there?”

“I flew…” said Mia. In a burst of feathers, she transformed into a blonde owl and back again to stand in front of them.

“She’s certainly more impressive than any of us were at her age…” muttered Dorian as an aside to Icis.

She laughed. “Mia,” Icis put an arm around her shoulder, “Go get your father and Alistair from their tent and meet me back at Morrigan’s… okay?”

Mia nodded and ran off. Icis felt a pang of guilt as she watched her leave. This was an enormous responsibility for a little girl, but being young and in danger seemed to be a family tradition.

           

Around the corner, Morrigan was already sitting with Kieran in their largest meeting tent. They were again attempting the spell that Kieran had been working on yesterday. This time, though, he’d succeeded. The previously Blighted flower was sitting next to him on the table—perfectly alive. Some black oil was evaporating off the wood surface next to it. They had all become accustomed to seeing this black ichor all over the place in the last few years—she barely even noticed it.

“Nice work, Kieran,” said Icis.

“Thanks,” he smiled up at her. “It’s about time…”

Icis sat next to Morrigan and pecked her cheek. Their relationship was interesting. They were definitely _together_ —everyone knew that—but it felt perpetually _new_ and Morrigan was hard to read. Icis sometimes thought she only _knew_ Morrigan fully when they were in each other's arms.

"Did I wake you when I left?" whispered Icis.

Morrigan turned so they were almost nose-to-nose, "No… I know you like to amble…"

Icis shivered slightly. Morrigan was simultaneously the most beautiful, perfect, _wonderful_ lover she'd ever had, _and_ an intimidating, terrifying adversary. Everything she said could be taken as a complement or a _dare_.

Mia laughed as she entered the tent with Cullen and Alistair in tow. “Kieran, you did it!" she shrieked. "You just didn’t want a little girl to beat you, huh?” she giggled.

Kieran grabbed her forearm and pulled her into a hug that was too tight. She struggled and laughed as he squished her head.

“Icis?” Alistair raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Are we set?”

Cullen was holding his hand. A decade ago that would have sent her reeling, but today things were different. Over time, she learned to let go of Alistair.  By the time he and Cullen decided to get married, she was close enough to both of them that she officiated the wedding.

“As set as we’re going to be,” she answered.

Morrigan dropped a hand onto Icis' knee below the edge of the table. "We are only going to get one shot at this," she said tensely.

Icis exhaled, "We only need one."

* * *

 

**Cullen**

Two hours later, Cullen was entrenched at the edge of a ravine. As the Archdemon circled overhead and spells whizzed past his ears, he wondered how his life had led him to this point. Alistair was at his back—not close enough to touch, but he could _feel_ him anyway.

"Just a few more seconds!" shouted Kieran from somewhere.

The ravine sent echoes in every direction; it was hard to keep track of everyone. Cullen whirled to see a clump of mages, muttering unintelligibly. His beautiful daughter was at their periphery—utterly silent. _Her_ part would come later.

A stream of fire came incredibly close to engulfing Cullen while he was turned around. Alistair tackled him at the last second.

"Pay attention!" he yelled.

Cullen flushed and set his jaw as he stood. This was the _last_ time they'd have to fight like this—the _last_ time he'd wonder if his children and his husband would survive; the _very last_ time he'd have to feel this kind of terror. He tried to hold onto that as he raised his sword at a wing just out of arm's reach. He managed to pierce the leathery webbing. The Archdemon let out a piercing cry and spun slightly. The mages took this as an opportunity to barrage the Archdemon with spells. Cullen watched as it fell to the ground, almost lifeless.

 _This might actually be working_.

Morrigan's voice rang out, "This is it—use the separation spells!" she called to the mages. She ran to the front, next to Cullen. "Mia!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Just a minute more!"

Cullen shuddered, following her gaze. Mia looked so tiny.

"That's it!" yelled Icis from his other side.

Cullen watched as the Archdemon seemed to vanish in front of him. Its bloody, torn wings were first. Second, its gore-ridden torso disappeared, and finally, its great, rotting head. When the ravine was eerily silent, a blackened and broken body lay before them in a cloud of dust and black liquid.

"Mia," whispered Morrigan. Her arms were around Mia's shoulders protectively, but Cullen shuddered as he saw them inching forward.

Mia closed her eyes and started to chant. Her lips moved silently. Sweat was forming across her brow and she started to shake. Morrigan's arms closed around her tighter—Cullen realized they were meant as a crutch, not a comfort.

Suddenly, a burst of white light erupted. It seemed to be coming directly from the heavens. It cut through a swirling mass of clouds and pierced the crumbled, blackened body. It rose ten feet into the air, like Kieran's innumerable practice-flowers, and spun.

Mia was swaying now, but she still didn't open her eyes. Cullen kneeled next to her and put his arms out, ready to catch her at a moment's notice.

A second later—it was over.

* * *

 

**Bella**

Bella coughed. Her vision swam and her body ached, but she _could_ move. She closed and opened her fists experimentally. A face hovered over her.

"Bella?" asked someone.

The person was familiar—blonde hair, purple eyes… she _knew_ that person—if only she could recall her name.

Something clicked, " _Icis_?"

Suddenly, people were hugging her, dragging her upright. Everyone was shouting and laughing and shrieking in glee. Most astonishing, though, was the sky. A mass of black clouds was beginning to dissipate, revealing cerulean blue beyond it. Bella didn't know what was going on, but she knew _intrinsically_ that she hadn't seen the sun in what felt like years.

A tiny girl was suddenly right in front of her. She looked human, but something about her made Bella wonder if she was actually half-elf.

"Hi, I'm Mia," said the little girl.

"Bella," Morrigan was right next to her, "she _saved_ you."

* * *

 

**Alistair**

The next few months were spent rebuilding. Alistair led the group back to Weisshaupt, which had been spared the destruction of every other fortress they knew. With the Blight gone, the straggling darkspawn retreated into the deep roads and the races of Thedas were left to pick up the pieces. Bella was rather disoriented, but she was remembering more every day.

One particular morning, Alistair found her sitting on a balcony overlooking the training yard.

"Hi," he said, sitting next to her, "how are you holding up?"

She smiled when she saw him. "I'm okay, thanks."

"This must be horribly confusing for you," he said gently.

She raised an eyebrow, "Ten years is a long time…"

He put an arm around her shoulder and squished her into his side. "We missed you every day."

She let her head drop toward him.

"Do you remember it?" he asked suddenly. "…the time you spent as the Archdemon?"

"No," she sat upright and faced him. "Thankfully."

He nodded.

"Did you know that Icis and Morrigan are together?" she asked suddenly. Her voice was high and incredulous.

"Is this the time where we get to gossip about everything that's happened in the last decade?" laughed Alistair.

She smiled, "Kind of…" She drew her legs up and crossed them. "So how did that _happen_?"

"It's actually sort of a funny story…" began Alistair.

 

* * *

 

And that was _**it**_. They had everyone back together. Although Alistair knew that the world wasn't _fixed_ —there might be more Blights, he would eventually have a calling to contend with, and no one was _really_ safe permanently—he had hope. For the first time in a decade, they were complete. All the people he'd ever loved were back together and he was _never_ going to let them go.

* * *

 

 

          **THE END**


End file.
